HOT Off The Press
by ajfinn
Summary: Clark and Lana meet for the first time as adults, working at the Daily Planet. Clark has been Superman for 2 years but doesn't need to act like a dork to pull off his double life-you'll soon discover why. This is a completed romantic comedy with little angst. Hundreds of thousands of hits on other fanfic sites. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**HOT Off The Press **

**A Clark & Lana Future Fic  
Rated: PG-13**

Background: Lana Lang was not a part of Clark's life in Smallville, but almost everything else that helped Clark progress toward his destiny on the show, still happened. Clark graduated from Met U in journalism three years ago, then started working at the Daily Planet with Lois. He's officially been Superman for about two years now, though he doesn't pretend to be the dork that the Superman movies make him out to be . . . nor does he have to wear glasses to pull off his double life, and you'll soon discover why. I hope you enjoy the story!  


**  
_Author's Note for readers … This story is still being written, but already has 35 chapters, so I'll post several chapters at a time to get new readers caught up. Please leave reviews so I'll know when readers are ready for more. Thanks! _**

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Chapter 1**

_Metropolis, 2012  
The Daily Planet News Floor _

"Stop drooling on your shoes, Clark," said Lois Lane. "It's disgusting."

Clark's first thought was, _That's funny. You didn't think anything was wrong with my drool last night . . . not when it was coming from Superman's lips._

"I'm not drooling. I'm yawning," Clark said, rubbing his eyes as if he was tired. The truth was, he was about to start the room on fire as he watched the hot new reporter get settled into her desk. Her station was directly across from his own, but he hadn't dared introduce himself yet. Of course, that hadn't stopped him from checking her out with his x-ray vision through the high cubicle wall.

Clark had escaped to what the staff called the 'watering hole,' for some relief from the heat—but Lois joined him shortly after he downed his third cup from the water tank and rightly guessed his reason for fleeing the scene. And boy was it a scene. _How can any creature be so beautiful?_

Lois backhanded Clark's chest. "Yawning is for losers," she said. "What were you doing up so late? It's not like you have a social life."

"Oh gosh, I don't know . . . watching Star Wars, Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica . . . anything a _Desperately in Need of a Life_ guy does to keep busy."

Lois rolled her eyes when she caught Clark taking another peek at the new reporter. "Her name is Lana Lang. And since I know you don't have the steel to ask her anything yourself, she worked with Chloe at The New York Times. They also went to school together at NYU—graduating at the top of their class."

"Yeah, I know," Clark said, taking another long gulp of water. It wasn't doing a thing to cool him down. Strangely, neither was the fact that Lois was standing next to him—the woman who held the official title _Tormenter by Day, Semi-girlfriend by Night_. He should at least feel some sort of guilt for eyeing a chick this way in front of Lois. But he didn't. "Chloe already told me about her."

What Chloe hadn't mentioned was how breathtaking Lana was. She'd gone on and on about how Lana had an amazing talent for journalism, but hadn't yet found her personal niche in the reporting world—despite the praise of her superiors and readership.

Chloe had even given Clark the task of befriending Lana, because she was so nervous about her new job. He'd have absolutely no complaints about this if he could banish the frog he felt croaking in his throat. It seemed to be leaping around in his chest as well.

Lois stepped in front of Clark and pinched both his cheeks. "What I'm saying, Smallville, is that the girl is out of your universe. _Way out!_ Farther out of reach than the moon, buddy."

Clark smiled, wanting to say . . . _You know, Lois. If you'd pay a little less attention to the big man himself, and a bit more to the real guy filling out the suit, you'd know that the moon isn't truly that far out of reach for me._

He had made the trip twice last week, just for exercise.

"Well, a guy can always dream, can't he?" Clark said, not wanting to get into one of their usual zinger wars. Others in the office often misunderstood their banter for flirting, but Clark knew better.

He knew the way Lois really flirted, when she wanted to snag a guy. Superman had been the object of her affection for nearly two years now, which Clark had soaked up like a wilting flower in a rainstorm. Ever since they met through Chloe, a couple of years before Superman came on the scene, Clark had had a thing for the sassy city girl.

Chloe had turned Clark's attention to journalism while they were still in high school, but Lois got full credit for Clark actually applying at the Daily Planet. He wanted to see what would happen if they spent more time together. 

He'd wondered if Lois would ever stop thinking of him as merely her cousin's best buddy, who, okay, _at times_ made a fool of himself. Why couldn't she see Clark for who he really was—a super catch, even without the costume?

Unfortunately, Lois' affection had steered farther off course than Clark ever imagined. More often than not, she treated him like an obnoxious younger brother. On a good day, Lois used him as her errand boy—totally ignoring the fact that he had just as much status as a respected reporter as she did. She'd only been working at the Planet a year longer than he had.

Nevertheless, her wish had been his command, because Clark appreciated any attention he could get from her—until recently. He'd been growing tired of it for quite some time now.

Superman was Clark's alter-ego, not the other way around. Clark Kent was the _real_ him. Superman's confidence—and smooth moves—had always been an act.

But Supes was the guy Lois liked. That was if she really had feelings for him at all. Clark would know if she was truly in _love_ with either Clark Kent or Superman . . . she would see them as one in the same. A woman who was truly in love would see through the superhero disguise, as well as the modifications on his appearance Clark took on while in costume.

Three years ago, his biological father, Jor-El, had made it possible to live this double life, one that Clark had insisted on. If he was going to become Superman, he demanded that he could still have a separate identity as Clark Kent as well. So rather than wearing a mask, which made Clark feel much too claustrophobic, Jor-El gave Clark a new ability—he could camouflage his actual appearance . . . the color of his eyes and hair, his voice, and even his skin tone to appear more tanned. Clark also looked bulkier in the costume his mother had made for him from Kryptonian material—the baby blankets that arrived in his spaceship.

There were only two people this elaborate façade didn't work on—his mother, and Chloe Sullivan. When Clark questioned Jor-El about this, Jor-El told him that even the best of tricks could not fool the heart . . . that both Clark Kent and Superman still shared the same soul, and if someone was to love him for the man he was on the inside, it would not matter how he appeared on the outside.

There was nothing Clark could do to hide his identity from someone who truly loved him, whether or not those feelings were romantic.

Chloe had long since resolved her feelings for Clark, and they were now both entirely comfortable with their relationship. Clark trusted Chloe implicitly, and she had proved her loyalty to both his secret and their friendship dozens of times over. He'd wished at times that he felt the one _spark_ missing between them, but he'd never been able to.

Clark had felt that spark for Lois, but it was fading. He sometimes wondered if Lois' affection for Superman was all just an act, to get the scoop on his true identity. Lois was more persistent than a dog digging for a t-bone. When she smelled a front page story, nothing could dissuade her.

And Clark wasn't stupid. He knew Lois would get more than just a front page story if she revealed Superman's identity. She'd probably get the Pulitzer Prize, along with an offer to work for any paper she named. Heck, Clark had even thought of turning _himself_ in, if that would be the result. 

"Dreaming is for losers, too, Clark. Lana Lang probably has her own dream guy she's thinking about," Lois said, bringing Clark back to reality.

That was probably true—he may not even have a chance with Lana. Just as he hadn't with Lois. But there had to be someone out there for him, right? It was a question that had plagued Clark since he was old enough to long for a romantic relationship, which was something that had almost completely evaded him.

It was Clark Kent's heart, and Clark Kent's courage, that gave Superman his soul. And that was the one clue that Lois had overlooked—the one thing that could've given her the truth. But instead of Lois accepting one of Clark's many invitations to go out, he was usually answered with something like, "You can't be serious, Clark. That would be like dating my brother. Eww. And there's a reason I don't have brothers. They couldn't handle me!"

The next thing Clark knew, he was being pushed away from the watering hole and toward Lana Lang's desk. "Whoa! What are you doing, Lois!"

"I told you," Lois said with another shove. "Dreaming is for wimps. Get over there and be a man!"

Clark had to turn on his super-strength to stop Lois. He whirled around and grabbed her shoulders. "I'll meet Lana when I'm ready to meet her. There's already a freaking carnival line of guys over there right now. Keep your nose attached to your face for just five minutes, and stop sticking it into everyone else's business. Please."

Lois' eyes grew wide. "Oh my gosh. You're whooped with a capital W. How funny is that?"

Clark groaned, dropping his hands. "It's not _funny_ at all. It's my _life_," he said, the thoughts of the last few minutes rising to the surface. "So what if I'm nervous to talk to a beautiful woman? Why does it matter to you?"

"It matters because I have a friend who's socially bass-ackwards!" Lois said in a hushed, but strong voice. "Geez, when was the last time you even went on a date?"

Folding his arms, Clark was ready to let her have it. "You want the truth? Last night."

"You're joking."

He shook his head. "I even kissed her."

Lois laughed. "Now I know you're lying." When Clark's face remained stone serious, Lois dropped her jaw. "Was she any good?"

_You picked the wrong day to ask._ "She's okay."

"How many times have you two gone out?" Lois asked, looking utterly stumped.

"More times than I can count."

Lois' expression became even more perplexed. "I don't get it. You're as dumb as a rock when it comes to keeping secrets from me. What's her name?"

Clark scratched his head. "Darn. I'm as dumb as a rock, so I can't remember," he said, then walked off in the opposite direction of Lana's desk. He didn't even dare look.

"Oh, don't be such a baby!" Lois called after him. "I was joking."

Now feeling twice the need to cool off, Clark headed toward the elevator to get some air on the roof of the Daily Planet building. He did a lot of thinking up there, not just at work, but at night when Superman needed to clear his head as well.

The only elevator that reached the top floor looked like it was on it's way down from there, but still had a long way to go. Clark didn't feel like waiting, so he made his way to the stairway and x-rayed thirty floors up, making sure he wouldn't super-blur past anyone who happened to be on the stairs at the same time.

Seeing the coast was clear, Clark ran the stairs in five seconds flat. He threw open the door to the roof and heard someone scream.

Spinning around to look for the poor victim he must've scared to death, Clark came face to face with a dark-haired goddess. _The_ dark-haired goddess he'd been trying to avoid for the past few hours.

"I'm so sorry," Clark said with a gulp. "I didn't expect anyone to be up here."

Lana was flat against a brick wall, her trembling hand on her hyperventilating chest. When she caught her breath, she laughed. "Chloe said you were entertaining, but that was . . . "

"Really stupid," Clark said, frozen where his feet insisted on keeping him. He was having a hard time catching his breath as well, but it had nothing to do with the thirty flights of steps he'd just ran. "So stupid that I'd usually skip the part where I introduce myself, and go find a rock to crawl under, but it sounds like you already know who I am."

Lana took the few steps between she and Clark, the ones he couldn't manage to take himself. She held out her hand. "I'm Lana Lang. But just call me Lana," she said, with a beautiful smile. "I've seen pictures of you for years, Clark, so I recognized you right away."

Clark only gave a slow nod, hypnotized by Lana's gorgeous hazel eyes. And, man, her skin! It looked as soft and smooth as pearls. He wanted to touch her face so badly that he had to stuff his hands deep in his pockets to stop from doing so.

"So, anyway," Lana said, confused by his response, but still holding out her hand. "I thought Chloe said she told you about me, but maybe not."

Clark finally blinked and noticed Lana's outstretched hand. "Oh, yeah, she did," he said, slowly lifting his hand to meet hers. When they touched, Clark swallowed, letting his hand linger as long as he could without making an even bigger fool of himself. "I'm Clark. Kent." He swallowed again. "I already said that, didn't I?" He shook his head. "I mean, _you_ already said that, didn't you?"

Lana smiled. "Not the Kent part," she said. "Do you mind if I just call you Clark, though? I'm not really into the formal thing, it makes me feel too old."

"I prefer _bumbling idiot_, if you don't mind. It fits me better."

Lana laughed again. "I've read some of your articles, so I don't believe that for a second. Besides, you seem twice as normal as anyone else here, so I'll take my chances."

Clark grinned, having seen the clowns who were falling all over themselves to meet her today. She must've escaped to the roof to get some much needed air, just as Clark had.

Lana tipped her head and continued. "And you definitely have the most sincere smile I've ever seen. I could use a friend, if you can spare the time."

"Umm. Uhh," Clark started, shifting from one foot to the other, then back again. What he really wanted to do was ask her out for dinner, but felt it was probably too soon. He didn't want to scare her off. "Sure, time. I've got some time. Do you need help moving into your new place?"

She took a few moments to respond. Clark thought he saw a glimmer of disappointment in her eyes, but wasn't sure what that meant.

"Actually, I'm in a hotel for now," Lana said. "But Chloe told me that her cousin's roommate is moving out soon, and that Lois is anxious to find a new one. I hear you know Lois quite well, would you mind introducing us?"

_Lois and Lana roommates! Holy crap, no!_ Clark's mind screamed. _How could I date Lois as Superman, and Lana as Clark Kent? Especially if they were roommates!_

Clark knew the answer—he couldn't.

**Chapter 2**

_ Perry White's Office _

"You have an unusual gift for writing obituaries, Miss Lang," said Perry White, the Daily Planet's Editor in Chief. As Lana had already learned, the staff secretly called him, _The Terminator._

They were sitting across from one another, at White's bombsite of a desk. It had been a long day, and this impromptu meeting he'd called Lana into was the last thing she felt like doing. This was sure to ruin her chances of having another conversation with that tall drink of hot cocoa, topped with sweet whipped cream, who sat on the opposite side of her cubicle.

She should know better than to go after a guy who she'd been told had eyes for someone else, but Lana had never been afraid of some healthy competition before, why start now?

"Thank you, Mr. White," Lana answered, focusing again. She'd been trying to maintain a delicate balance of respect and confidence in their conversation, so he'd know she wouldn't be just another one of his sock-puppet reporters. But the fact that he brought up her interesting knack for writing obituaries made her nervous. Very nervous.

Lana wanted more out of this job. She wanted more out of her _life_—which is why she'd jumped at the chance to move to Metropolis. Something was calling to her here, and she was determined to find out what it was.

"Are you aware of how you came to our attention?" White asked Lana.

"I've heard rumors."

He laughed. "Well, I'll tell you this—you couldn't have caught the attention of a more powerful man," he said, giving her a curious look, as if he was skeptical of her luck. "It was Mr. Olsen himself, the owner of the Daily Planet—and half of Metropolis—who insisted we offer the sky to get you to join us here."

Lana smiled, flattered, but feeling a tad uncomfortable. _Why_ exactly was Mr. Olsen so interested in her? These days, a woman could never be too cautious.

"You happened to write a brilliant obituary for his dear old mother," White continued. "She was as crazy as a crossed-eyed chicken in a minefield of firecrackers! But _somehow_, you managed to make her sound like a Nobel Peace Price winner. I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Olsen has written you into his will by now."

"Oh my! That was his mother?" Lana said, trying her best not to explode with laughter.

Lana clearly remembered the day her editor at The New York Times dropped a television-sized box on her desk, and said, "Lana, if you don't kick some butt on this project, we're both toast! The guy is paying for a full page obituary on his mom—that's big bucks—and _you_ get to write it!"

It took Lana forty-eight hours without sleep, and hardly a bite to eat, to sift through the memorabilia in the box and write the obituary in the allotted timeframe, but she got it done.

Surprisingly, it was perhaps the work Lana was most proud of. From the proof in the box, Mr. Olsen's mother could've been written up as nothing more than a batty old cat lady, but Lana did her best to dig into this woman's motivation behind her absolutely insane antics, and come up with a life story that rivaled Mother Teresa's . . . the only difference being that Mother Teresa saved human lives, and Mr. Olsen's mother focused more on felines, squirrels, and shrubbery.

Yes, shrubbery. Some fight to save trees, but this woman couldn't stand to see a neighbor take clippers to their hedges—sometimes protesting for days at a time, naked, until she was hauled off by the authorities.

Lana had focused the obituary on a woman who fought for what she believed in, no matter the cost. Not a single shrub or squirrel was mentioned . . . only a love for God's creations, which gave this patron saint incomprehensible determination to protect our dear planet from those who attempt to defile it.

Most unfortunately, Mr. Olsen's mother lost this battle when her kindness came back to bite her in the butt—well, actually in the hand. When climbing a fifty foot oak tree to return a baby squirrel to its home, the naughty little thing bit her, and she took a nasty fall.

Thus, the obituary.

"Yes, that lunatic was Mr. Olsen's mother," White answered. "You have a lot to thank the old woman for. She's the reason you have your job."

Lana cleared her throat, not about to let him get away with that. "Actually, I earned this job because I'm a talented reporter. And I'm looking forward to proving myself in more high-profile sections of this paper than the obituaries."

White's jaw tightened, making Lana's heart jump. "Obituaries bring an amazing amount of cash flow to a paper, Miss Lang. From what I hear, your tribute to Mr. Olsen's mother made quite a stir—soliciting high profile, full page obituaries from around the country. And that's exactly what we intend to do with you here. You're going to make us some money."

_Off dead people?_ Geez. It would've been nice to be told this in her interview two weeks ago. But if that objective was made clear, Lana probably wouldn't have noticed anyway. All she heard during that interview was her inner voice. _Do it, Lana! This is your chance to escape the cyclone that's pulling you into a life you don't want to lead . . . with a man you no longer want to be with._

"My full effort will go toward honoring the memory of loved ones," Lana said, leaning forward in her chair, but wearing a gentle smile to ease the tension, "and will _not_ be for the purpose of adding zeros to the Daily Planet's piggy bank."

White leaned forward in his chair as well, a wide grin appearing. "Heaven have mercy on us. I believe we've hired a woman who can give Lois Lane a challenge."

_What does he mean by that?_ Lana thought, but chose to ignore it. After all, she'd just agreed with Lois to move in as her roommate. She didn't want any bad blood between them.

Lana stood her ground, "And I expect to be given additional assignments as well—in the field, doing the work of a true reporter."

White laughed now. "You don't happen to be that spit-fire cousin of Lois' she's always talking about, do you?"

Lana shook her head. "No, but I know her—Chloe Sullivan. And if you're ever in the market for another killer reporter—the best of the best—she'd be the one to go after. But I can guarantee she wouldn't write your obituaries."

"Oh, that's right—Chloe," White said. "What makes you think she wouldn't write our obituaries?"

"Because she's an _investigative_ reporter. She's too talented to be anything less."

White arched his brow. "And so are you, Miss Lang. That's why you'll be raking in the green stuff for us with your poetic memorials by day," he said, then lowered his voice to a whisper, "but by night, you'll be investigating crime. And I'm talking _gritty_ crime."

Lana smiled, thrilled by the prospect, but a little stumped by this out of the blue proposal. "But this is Metropolis, where the crime rate has dropped by eighty percent in the past two years. Superman patrols the sky."

"Exactly."

"Exactly?" Lana asked, squinting. She was completely confused now.

"There's still someone committing that remaining twenty percent of violent crimes in this city, and I have my theory of who it is," White said, beaming as if he was Sherlock Holmes himself. "It's Superman."

"Superman!" Lana said, unable to stop from mocking such a ridiculous idea with her vivacious laugh.

It was obvious that White didn't appreciate Lana's giggling. "Miss Lang, there are two rules above all else in this office. One, never laugh at Perry White. And two, never question Perry White. You are violating both."

Lana straightened up, needing nothing further to sober her. "My apologies. Please explain."

White cleared his throat. "Think of it. He's bulletproof, he can see through walls, walk through fire, he's faster than a bullet, as powerful as a bomb . . . he can fly—making the entire world his target. What sort of man wouldn't take advantage of those gifts for his own good?"

_An honest one_, Lana thought, but didn't dare speak while White's face was still so red.

He continued, "And who wouldn't want credit for the heroic acts he does? Only a man who was living a lie—making us all believe that he's the good guy, when in reality he fights crime to both stay in our good graces, and more so, to eliminate his competition. I think this _Superman_ isn't so super at all. I think he's a fraud, living the high life of a master criminal! That's why he won't expose his true identity, not even to the woman he loves! After two years of investigating Superman, all Lois has come back with is stars in her eyes!"

Chloe had told Lana all about Superman's relationship with Lois. Lana had to admit that it was strange that Lois didn't know who he was, but she was sure that Superman had his reasons for keeping his deepest secret, even from Lois. But doing so because he was really a criminal . . . that was just silly.

Lana took a deep breath. "Alright, let's say all this is true. What sort of investigating could I do that Lois hasn't already done? It seems that she knows him better than anyone."

"You can use your brain, not your heart," White snapped. "_That's_ the kind of investigating I need done! I haven't told Lois a thing about my theory, because love clouds the mind. So you, Miss Lang, are to pose as nothing more than a reporter after the truth behind crime sprees, you got that? Trust me, you'll find the caped vandal soon enough. He's everywhere."

_This is freaking unbelievable. I have to stalk Superman!_ And he certainly wouldn't be difficult to run into, since he's dating Lana's new roommate.

White pointed a finger at Lana. "And if you tell a single soul about this assignment, there will be hell to pay." He shook his head. "I'm not talking about myself here. Lois is extremely protective of Superman, and if she even gets a whiff that you're after the same story, you'll be like a lone duck in a small pond . . . on opening day of hunting season. Kaboom!" White pulled the trigger on his hand, now shaped like a gun.

"My, my," Lana said. "It sounds as if you're more concerned about me crossing Lois Lane, than ticking off the big man himself."

Duh! What would Lana do if she _did_ discover Superman to be a criminal—make a citizen's arrest? Lana almost laughed when she thought of it. _Put your arms of steel in the air, buddy! I'm gonna kick your armored butt!_ Umm, no. Not gonna happen.

"You just get the dirt, and I'll do the rest," said White, smiling.

Lana's previous courage took over. "What if there isn't any dirt to get? What if I find that Superman is as squeaky clean as he appears to be?"

White gave her a smirk. "Oh, there will be dirt. There's always dirt! Didn't they teach you that in your journalism classes at NYU?"

"I'm not making anything up. I refuse to stoop that low," Lana said, her jaw set as firm as concrete. "I'll report the facts as I find them, and nothing more."

Folding his arms, White shook his head, looking amused. "You know, I'm almost tempted to leak your intentions to Lois myself. Oh, boy! You two could really go at it if you had your hearts set on the same prize. What fun that would be!"

Lana would've rolled her eyes, but that's typically something you want to avoid doing to your boss on the first day of work. Instead, she stood and placed her hands on White's desk, looking him firmly in the eyes . . . but managing to give a smile. "If you make this your own personal competition, I _won't_ be the lone duck in the pond. The pond will be empty, and I won't be coming back."

"Fair enough," White said, holding out his hand.

Lana reluctantly shook it, feeling a pit of regret for taking this job. Perhaps she'd be better off high-tailing it back to New York, where her previous job was still available.

She opened the office door to exit, and nearly got a fist in her face. Clark was standing there, his hand stopping a mere inch from her nose—looking as though he was about to knock on White's door.

Lana laughed when Clark's face went bright red. "We seem to have a thing with doors," she said, instantly feeling the strain of her conversation with White leaving.

"I think I just have a thing with being in the wrong place at the wrong time," Clark said, his smile doing what it did to Lana earlier—flipping her insides over.

_Or the right place, at the perfect time,_ Lana wanted to tell him.

"You're late, Kent!" White called. "Give me that article!"

Lana smiled back as she and Clark shimmied past one another through the narrow doorway. _Oh my gosh, he smells good._ Lana mused.

As she walked away from the office, Lana got the feeling that Clark's conversation with White would be a short one . . . so she took her sweet time, studying the framed news articles in the hallway as if they were Monet paintings.

Lois couldn't have both Superman, and Clark. She had to be playing one of them, and at this point, Lana didn't care which one it was. Clark was too good of a treat to pass up. Lana wanted to get to know him. Well.

But would he even be interested? From the way he was looking at her on the roof a few hours ago, she had thought so, but right when she opened her big mouth to hint that she'd like to spend some time with him, on a more personal level, a conversation she had with Chloe came rushing back to her . . . Clark had been infatuated with Lois for years now, which was why Chloe had told Lana from the first time she saw Clark's picture, that she couldn't line them up. Lana had wanted to meet him despite the fact that she was dating someone else, but Chloe felt that she had to remain true to her cousin, holding out hope that Lois would come around.

Well, Lois had had enough time to clear the fog in her empty head . . . it had to be empty if she hadn't fallen for Clark—even with Superman around. Lana had known the guy for less than a day and couldn't stop thinking about him.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lana saw Clark exit White's office and head her way.

Her heart started skipping beats. _Calm down, Lana. Don't act stupid,_ she told herself. Did she even know how to flirt anymore? Had she been with Jason too long to even do it right?

She was about to find out.

**Chapter 3**

_ The Daily Planet Hallway _

Clark didn't hear anything but, _blah, blah, blah_, coming from Mr. White's wide mouth. So what if his article was late? It was late almost every night, along with everyone else's. It wouldn't matter if he turned in his work a month early, Mr. White would still call it late.

Clark did, however, hear two things quite clearly while he was standing in White's office . . . his own heartbeat, pounding in his chest . . . and Lana's footsteps stopping in the hall.

He'd turned on his super-hearing so he would know which direction Lana was headed—back to her desk, or toward the elevators to go home. But Clark could tell that she stopped walking before she reached either, and he couldn't wait to get out in the hallway to find out why.

_Okay, Kent. Be cool. Don't trip. Don't say anything dumb. Just chill._ Clark repeated these words to himself as he walked toward Lana, taking deep breaths. He had little trouble as the suave Superman, but being in costume gave a person more advantages than just disguise. Wearing the suit gave Clark permission to be someone he wasn't—to use bravery for more than just heroics. As Clark Kent, his words usually failed him with women. But this time, he thought, would be different.

"Hey, Lana," Clark said. So far so good.

Lana turned from a framed article she seemed to be studying like it was the key to a chemistry test. "Oh, hey."

Clark's hands suddenly felt like round watermelons—heavy, and in the way. He didn't know where to put them. He tried his hips, but that felt too obviously manly. "So umm . . . " he dropped one arm to his side, keeping the other on his hip . . . nah, too girly. "How was your, uhh . . . " he folded his arms, but realized right away that this was too defensive. He stuffed his hands in his pockets—his usual default—and called it good. "Your meeting with White?"

Lana tipped her head and tucked one side of her luscious mocha hair behind an ear. "It was alright."

Silence. Both smiled, then looked away, red faced.

Rocking on his heels, he glanced back to her. "So, did White drop any bombs on you? He's famous for the old 'bait and switch.' You know, luring you in with one idea of what your job will be like, then giving you some top secret assignment that makes you want to pack up and run for your life."

Lana laughed . . . it was the sound that had been resonating through Clark's soul since they'd met on the roof top. "Funny you say that, Clark. That's exactly what happened." She leaned a bit closer and whispered. "So, will he come to his senses tomorrow, and give me an assignment that actually sounds like a _legitimate_ story?"

Smiling, because he remembered that Lana complimented his smile earlier, Clark said, "Not likely. Once White gets a scandal spinning in his head, you're pretty much stuck with it. He's had some of us working on his same crazy personal quests for years now."

Lana nodded, tipping her head to the other side now, and putting a hand on her slender waist. She was wearing a light gray, fitted suit . . . her skirt hugging her legs just right, and touching a few inches above her knees. Yum. _Focus! Or you'll tip over._

"Oh, you mean like Lois' assignment to discover Superman's secret identity?" Lana asked.

Clark shifted his weight. "Yeah . . . like that. Ridiculous, huh?"

"Pretty much," Lana replied. "So, is she the only one investigating the heroic hunk, or does White have a full army devoted to the cause?"

_Heroic Hunk_, Clark repeated in his mind, all dreamy like. _Or did she say Hulk? Or maybe, Heroic Hulky Hunk?_ Whatever she had said, it made Clark's toes curl in his size thirteen shoes.

"Clark? Are you okay?" Lana asked, waiting for his answer.

"Yeah!" Clark said, falling from cloud nine and back to Earth with a thud. "And no, I think Lois is the only one who's bugging Superman . . . err, I mean, you know, who's constantly trying to figure out who he really is."

Lana smiled. "Bugging him, huh? You don't think it's a mutual thing? From what Chloe told me, the guy seems pretty whooped over Lois as well."

Clark shrugged. He had to have a serious talk with Chloe to find out all she'd told Lana. "Well, maybe sometimes, or maybe at one time, or, well, times change. And people change, over time. You know what I mean?"

Biting down on both lips, Lana looked like she was about to burst.

"Of course you don't know what I mean," Clark said, laughing at himself. "Even _I_ can't figure out what I just said to you."

"It was something about 'time.' That much I understood," Lana said. Clark looked up sheepishly and scratched his head. "So, it sounds like you know Superman as well," Lana continued.

Clark swallowed, not wanting to lie. "We've talked. He's a really nice guy—well obviously. I mean, you'd have to be pretty decent to do what he does, right?"

"Definitely," Lana answered with a sure nod. "And I've seen pictures of him. He has this great countenance—of bravery, and self-sacrifice. I can't quite place my finger on it. And the articles Lois has written make him sound amazing. He seems intelligent and well spoken."

Clark was nearly on the floor from lack of strength in his iron-clad legs. "Wow. Most women just say Supes is _hot_. Or handsome, or whatever."

Lana glanced away for a moment, seeming a bit unsure of her words. "Yeah, I guess he is."

_She GUESSES I'm good looking? Ouch._

Then, being quicker than usual to get a clue, Clark remembered that they were talking about Superman here, not himself . . . who didn't look much like Supes at all in newspaper photos. _And, duh, Kent, if she's interested in YOU, she's not going to say another dude is hot._

"But there's more to a guy than his appearance, like you're saying," Clark said, trying to bring his voice back to a casual tone.

Lana looked Clark right in the eyes and gave her most beautiful smile of the day. "Yes, but good looks complete the package quite nicely."

After Clark released an embarrassing sigh, he knew he had two choices. Either walk away, like the chicken he usually was around girls, or pull his shoulders back and ask Lana out. He decided on the latter, before the amazing chemistry bouncing between them died down.

But then, an elevator dinged and they both looked toward the doors. Clark knew he was in trouble the moment the tall lanky fellow stepped into the hallway, whistling a happy tune . . . one that only belonged in an animated Disney movie.

Clark closed his eyes. "Oh, please hide me. Quick."

Lana laughed hard. "Behind what? A skyscraper? You're huge!"

"Kent! Kent! Just the lad I was looking for!" cried Mr. Olsen, the owner of the Daily Planet. What Luthor Corp didn't own in Metropolis, Olsen Enterprises did. The two corporations were at constant odds with one another.

_Why now! Why of all freaking times did this guy have to show up now!_ Clark knew there was no way out of being thoroughly embarrassed when Mr. Olsen came around. Not when you're Clark Kent.

Forcing an enormous smile, Clark turned toward Mr. Olsen. "Wow! What a surprise. What can I do for you today, Mr. Olsen?"

"That's what I love about you, boy! Always so eager to help!" said the man, brushing his thin comb over back into place. His hair was the color of milk, so it hardly made a difference.

"Anytime, Mr. Olsen," Clark answered.

Mr. Olsen's eyes bugged out as he peeked around Clark's broad shoulders to the woman behind him. "Oh my stars! It looks as though you've traded in your older model for an upgrade!"

Clark's face suddenly felt hotter than it had been in years. "Actually, she's, umm—"

Circling Lana like he was admiring a flawless granite statue at an art museum, Mr. Olsen said, "Perfect! Gorgeous! That's what she is! You two make a much finer couple than you and that . . . oh, what's her name that you're always dawdling around with, Kent?" Clark wasn't about to offer hints. Mr. Olsen tipped his head in thought. "Oh! Lois Lane—that's who! That sneaky little reporter of ours." He put his hand on Clark's shoulder. "Now, I'm not trying to intrude with affairs of the heart, but I never did think she was the one for you. She's much too brash, son. And she's two-timing you with that caped fella, you know that, right?"

Lana was standing there, open mouthed and wide eyed.

Clark blew hot steam from his lips . . . and ears. "Lois and I are just—" He was about to say _friends_.

"Not meant for one another," Mr. Olsen said, nodding sadly. Then he did a little hop and snapped his fingers. "But _this_ woman! Wow! Excellent choice. I wholeheartedly give my blessing!" He stuck out his hand to Lana. "But you didn't even introduce us, Kent! What's wrong with you?"

Both Clark and Lana smiled now, shaking their heads in unbelief.

"Mr. Olsen, this is Lana Lang," Clark said. "She's a new report—"

"Ahhhh! Lana Lang! Kent, why didn't you say so?" Mr. Olsen chirped, pumping Lana's hand up and down like a levy. "This is the angel who . . . " he sniffed, then sniffed again. His eyes began to water, then tears spilled out. "Miss Lang, you can never imagine what you've done for my family. We are eternally indebted to you for your kind remarks about my lovely mother. Few people have recognized just how wonderful she was, but . . . " Mr. Olsen threw his arms around Lana, crying into her hair as he leaned over a full foot to embrace her. " . . . you! What wisdom! What talent! What a pure heart you have! God bless you."

As Mr. Olsen continued with his smothering, Lana patted his back and whispered consoling words about his mother. Her eyes met Clark's and they gave one another a warm smile. This was a good man . . . a crazy one, no doubt . . . but he had a heart of gold.

The obituary that Lana had written was no secret around the office. Many had mocked it, saying that Mr. Olsen not only would've had to pay the New York Times to print it, but also pay the writer to make up such nonsense. But neither Clark, nor Lois, had agreed with them. They thought the obituary was pure genius. Every word was true, just slanted in a different direction than most would've written it.

This was exactly the reason Clark supposed Mr. Olsen sent it to another paper to be composed. Too many reporters at his own paper had met his mother, and would not see her as anyone more than the woman who often stalked the Daily Planet news floor, with her legion of cats, looking for "Young, spirited hearts, to join her life-saving efforts for all things fluffy. Including shrubbery." She had a banner and everything, waving it with pride. When she forgot to wear clothes, Mr. Olsen would wrap the banner around her and pin it tightly.

But he never showed an ounce of shame for his mother. He was proud of her, no matter what she did.

During a lengthy conversation between Lana and Mr. Olsen, with Lana making obvious attempts to move on, Clark felt really out of place . . . especially when others started passing through the hall, leaving for the day, and gawking at the three of them with curiosity. Clark felt it was too apparent that he was sticking around to talk to Lana a while longer, so he decided to give up for the day and try again tomorrow. That was, if he could get the nerve after the spectacle Mr. Olsen had just made of him.

Clark took the opportunity to bolt during a brief pause in Lana and Mr. Olsen's chatting. "Well, I'm off to finish up for the night," he said.

Lana's smile slipped from her face, which made Clark's grin do a magical reappearing act.

"Not so fast," Mr. Olsen said, latching onto Clark's arm. "You're the reason I made the trek down from my office."

_Oh no._ Those were never good words to hear. Clark could tell he was about to be assigned to a wild goose chase. Between White and Mr. Olsen, Clark rarely had the chance to investigate, and write about topics that truly interested him.

"You two got me completely off base," Mr. Olsen continued, "but here's what I need you to do, Kent." He grabbed Lana's hand, displaying a smile the size of a banana. "And you, too, Miss Lang. Oh this will be perfect!" Then he grabbed Clark's hand as well, and connected it with Lana's. "You two are now engaged! So I need you to go out and look for a sparking diamond to seal the deal."

Both Lana and Clark gulped, then laughed. "We may want to date first!" Clark said.

Mr. Olsen startled, then pressed ahead. "No need. This is for the good of lovers everywhere," he said. "I have a sneaky suspicion, after recently shopping for jewelry with my dear wife, that we have a dirty diamond supplier in the area. I need you two to pose as a starry-eyed couple and see if you discover the same interesting clues that I did! Someone is ripping off the public, and it's our duty to expose them." He took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Clark. "Here's a list of three jewelry stores to investigate, along with my personal notes."

Clark and Lana made hesitant eye contact. _What an awkward first date!_ Clark thought.

When Lana nodded to him, Clark followed suit. "Alright, when would you like us to take care of this, Mr. Olsen?" he asked.

"Tonight, of course," he said, giving both a cheerful wave as he practically skipped back toward the elevators. "Let me know what you find! And have fun, young lovebirds!"

The new _couple_ watched in awe as Mr. Olsen left. Clark didn't know what to say, so he simply blurted out the first words that came.

"Do you have any idea what just happened?" he asked Lana.

"Sure. I don't know how you missed it," she answered with a giggle, her breath-taking eyes shining. "I think we just got engaged."

Clark laughed, feeling the courage he needed. "Well, in that case, would you like to join me for dinner before we shop for a ring?"

"I'd love to."

**Chapter 4**

_ Chloe Sullivan's Apartment, New York City _

Chloe was trying to juggle an overstuffed satchel, her bag of Chinese takeout, and finding the right key for her apartment . . . when her cell phone rang.

She swore under her breath. "Can this day get any crazier?"

Opening the door, Chloe dropped her satchel, and barely balanced her takeout. She caught the call just in time. "New York Times, Chloe Sullivan speaking," she said, then heard laughing shimmer through the speaker. She knew right away that she must've answered her cell the way she answers the phone in her office. _Crap! I did it again._

"Rough day, huh, Chlo?" asked the caller.

Chloe breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't anyone who would rub in her lapse of sanity. "Hey, Lana! Who cares about my day, how was yours? What do you think of Perry White? Did you talk to Lois about moving in?"

Lana laughed again. She sure seemed to be in a good mood, Chloe thought, so Lana's day must've gone much better than her own.

"Alright, let's get the insignificant stuff out of the way," Lana said, making Chloe squint her eyes. Since when was a first day at work insignificant? "White is crazy. Lois seems cool—yes, we're going to be roommates. But then, there's this other little detail we need to discuss."

"What?"

"I'll give you a hint . . . just one word should do," Lana said. "Yummy."

"You went to Kung-Pow's for lunch, didn't you?" Chloe looked down at her own bland Chinese food, now on the coffee table, wishing she was back in Metropolis at her favorite restaurant. There was more giggling. Lana didn't typically giggle, so there could only be one explanation. Chloe gasped. "You met a guy!"

"Yep. And not just any guy either—the one you should've introduced me to years ago."

Chloe opened her carton of fried rice, watching the steam rise until her brain clicked. She dropped her fork on the floor. "No! No, no, no. He's off limits, I told you that!" Lana was dead silent, and Chloe felt like an idiot for freaking out on her. "Dang, I'm sorry. But Lana, this could be a nightmare for me—my three best friends in a messy love triangle."

Lana gave a frustrated sigh. "What would be so messy about it? Clark and Lois aren't dating," she said. "I know you told me that he's liked her for a long time, but she's with Superman, and from what you say, they're pretty serious. So _why_ does the thought of me dating Clark seem so awful to you?"

Chloe's whole body felt like a tangled ball of rubber bands. _Crap! How can I explain this?_ "Lana, it's not that I don't think you and Clark would make a great couple, because honestly, you two are a lot more alike than he and Lois, but," okay, this was where she had to get clever, "Lois is starting to come around with Clark . . . and she, well, she likes him a lot more than she appears to."

"Well, if she refuses to step up and do something about it, then I don't see why I can't at least get to know Clark," Lana said, sounding more feisty than the friend Chloe was used to. "If Lois knows Clark likes her, and hasn't even given him a chance, I'm sorry—I know she's your cousin—but she must have a screw loose somewhere. It only took me a few minutes to realize he's the kind of guy I'd like to date."

Chloe plopped down on the couch with her dinner, but her stomach was grumbling for other reasons besides hunger. "Look, do what you want, but I don't think it's a good idea to go after him right now," Chloe said. "You're just coming off a break-up, and Clark still has unresolved feelings for Lois. Do you really want to deal with all that?" In the absence of a reply from Lana, Chloe thought of the most horrifying complication of all. "And besides, you'll be living with Lois, just imagine the chaos this could cause."

Still, Lana didn't respond, and Chloe felt awful. But what was she supposed to do? She adored Lana, and wanted her to be happy—especially since her last relationship was so unfulfilling—but when it all boiled down, Chloe's allegiance had to remain with her cousin, Lois. They'd spent a lot of time talking lately, about Lois' feelings for Superman, and Chloe was _certain_ that Lois was genuinely falling in love with him—which meant she could see through his disguise any day now, and realize that he and Clark were one in the same.

Clark had been on pins and needles for two years now—waiting for that moment.

Chloe felt that she owed it to both Clark and Lois, to buy Lois a little more time. Once Lana set her heart on a guy, there was no way he could resist her. Chloe had seen that girl work her charms enough to know that.

"Okay, I'll back down, for now," Lana said, sounding distraught. "But can you do me a favor, please?"

"Sure, anything," Chloe said, relieved.

"Talk to Clark and see where he really stands with Lois," Lana said. "And if he's ready to move on, let me know. Because I felt something today, Chloe, that I've never experienced before."

Chloe's insides twisted. "Are you serious? Like what?"

"I'm not sure what it was," Lana said, sounding light and airy. "But I was instantly comfortable with Clark, like we were meant to be friends—or maybe more. I don't know how I can ignore that."

Chloe knew all too well that Clark could have that effect on women. She had to agree with Lana, Lois had a screw loose somewhere. Why couldn't she see what was so clearly in front of her? Lois had met Clark years before she ever met Superman, yet still hadn't shown any sort of romantic interest in him. _Stupid, stupid, girl!_

There was a rapid knocking on Chloe's door. "Hold that thought, Lana . . . let me get the door, then we'll keep talking."

"Actually, I have to make a quick call, then I'll call you back, alright?" Lana said.

Chloe clicked her cell shut, then looked through the peep hole. "Speak of the devil," she said, opening the door. "What are you doing here?"

Clark's grin was so huge, it surprised Chloe that he fit through the doorway. "First off, I need your help deciding what to wear," Clark said, motioning to the completely stuffed duffle bag hanging off his shoulder. "And secondly, you're going to tell me every word you've ever spoken to Lana Lang about either myself, or Superman."

Chloe threw her hand over her mouth as she closed the door with her backside. "Oh no! You like her!"

Clark laughed. "How couldn't I? She's amazing," he said, then his eyes narrowed, playfully. "Which makes me a little ticked that you haven't hooked us up before." Just as Chloe opened her mouth for an explanation, Clark's cell phone started ringing. He looked at the caller ID screen and his smile grew even larger. "It's her."

"Then just excuse me, while I throw myself out the window," Chloe said.

"Huh?" Clark asked, confused, as he answered the phone.

Chloe reached up and pulled Clark down by the head, so she could listen in—which made him even more confused.

The first of their conversation was casual, with Clark sounding happier than Chloe had heard him in as long as she could remember. Then Chloe heard Lana say, "Clark, I think it might be best if you take Lois on this assignment tonight."

Clark's face fell. "Lois? Why?"

Chloe stepped away from Clark, "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Lana said something, but Clark was too focused on Chloe to hear it. "Lana, I apologize, but can you hold on for just one second?" he asked, then put the phone on mute. "What did you do, Chloe?"

Chloe gulped, holding up her hand in a defensive stance. "Lana called and I talked her out of, umm, getting to know you better."

"What? Why?" he said, stunned. "I finally get the guts to ask a girl out, and you blow it for me?"

"You have a date with her?"

"Yeah, tonight," he said, throwing his free hand in the air. "Well, at least I _did_ have a date with her."

Chloe was devastated. She couldn't stand to see Clark this disappointed after seeing how happy he was just a few minutes earlier. Forget Lois—at least for now, she had to fix this.

"Okay, keep Lana on the phone, I'll take care of it," Chloe said, grabbing her own cell. "When her call waiting beeps, tell her to answer it."

Clark nodded, then returned to the phone—drawing a deep, courage gathering, breath. "Lana, if something else has come up for you, we can put this off for another night. But I'd rather not cancel. To be honest, I'm looking forward to it, especially dinner. With you, not Lois."

As Chloe's phone was ringing Lana's number, she gave Clark an impressed nod, knowing those weren't easy words for him to say.

Clark must've heard Lana's call waiting interrupt her, because he said, "Go ahead and take that call, Lana, then get back to me about tonight."

"Lana," Chloe said, when she answered. Clark hurried over to listen in, but Chloe shoved him away—knowing she was being hypocritical, but this was _girl's talk_. She also gave him the sign that he better not use his super-hearing. "I can't stop thinking about what you said, and you're right, you shouldn't ignore . . . " she turned away so Clark wouldn't hear, " . . . what you felt."

Lana sighed. "Thanks, Chloe. I'm glad you called back, because I was just about to cancel our date tonight, and was feeling absolutely sick about it."

"Then go. You two will have a lot of fun together. And forget about Lois," Chloe said, then turned and rolled her eyes at Clark, who was jumping up and down with excitement, "she has her own guy."

"And I'm sure Superman is just perfect for her," Lana said, all cheery . . . which made Chloe nauseous again.

"Only time will tell," was Chloe's reply. Then they said their goodbyes and Chloe hung up, about to burst with laughter as she watched Clark do a happy jig around the room.

"Clark, what's the number one rule of our friendship?" she asked.

He gave her a playful scowl. "Don't stick your nose into the other person's love life?"

"No, that's rule number two," Chloe said, walking over and making him hold still. "Number one is to never, _never_, dance in front of me. It's just not pleasant."

"Oh, thanks a lot," Clark said with a smirk. His cell rang, and it was Lana, saying that she'd love to keep their arrangements for the evening.

Clark had to restrain himself from dancing again, then said goodbye and told Chloe, "Now help me figure out what to wear—I brought almost everything I own."

He wasn't kidding. Clark must've used some super-strength to stuff so many clothes into his duffle bag. 

"Okay, first I need to know what you're doing—dinner, I suppose, and what else?" Chloe asked, picking through the pile he'd dumped on her couch.

Clark got a very serious look on his face. "We're shopping for an engagement ring."

Chloe's knees gave out and she collapsed to the couch. "Holy—" she couldn't even finish.

Laughing hard, Clark said, "It's for a crazy assignment that Mr. Olsen gave us. That's how this all started, then I just tacked on an invitation for dinner, and Lana agreed."

"Smooth," Chloe said, in desperate need of CPR.

Clark gave a proud nod. "Yep, that's what I thought," he said, snatching up a shirt and pants and changing into them at the speed of light. "How does this look?"

Chloe glanced up, still stunned. "Like you're a farmer, Clark. How many times have I told you to ditch the freaking plaid?"

Frowning, as he looked down at his favorite blue and black plaid button down, he said, "Deep inside, Chlo, I'll always be a farmer. Don't you think it's important for Lana to know that side of me?"

"Umm, no."

"Fine," he answered, disappointed. Then he changed into another outfit and strutted around the room. Chloe's twisted expression said a definite no to that choice as well.

When he'd gone through almost all his clothes, Chloe said, "You'd think it would freak me out that you were changing your clothes right in front of me, whether I can see you or not, but the only thing on my mind is, 'Dang, this guy has no fashion sense whatsoever.'"

"You've lived in hoity-toity New York for too long," Clark answered.

"No, I've just been shopping in the past ten years," she said, sifting through the remainder of the pile. "Don't you have anything solid black in here?"

"Black?" he asked, with an empty stare. "Why black?"

Chloe smiled. "Trust me, Lana will go crazy if you wear a black shirt. You have no idea how hot you look when you go all Red-K and wear black."

Clark shook his head. "No I guess I don't. I'm too busy blowing stuff up."

She laughed. "Wearing black doesn't make you the bad guy, Clark. It just gives you an edge—a very sexy one."

"In that case, I'll be right back," he said, super-speeding out the door. Ten minutes later, he returned with a Macy's bag in tow, pulling out a black long-sleeved button down.

Chloe handed him some khaki Ralph Lauren Chinos, that she knew he looked good in. What didn't look good on Clark's bottom half? No matter what kind of mess he wore as a shirt, the rest of him was always deliciously perfect.

When Clark had changed, Chloe gave him a standing ovation. "There you go," she said, motioning for him to spin around. "Now cut the tags off the shirt, and iron it."

She grabbed the ironing board and iron for him, then supervised as she listened to her answering machine messages. The last two messages were from Lois. One said that she needed to talk to Chloe immediately, but not over her cell, since too many people were always around. And the next message Lois left, which Clark could hear loud and clear, went like this . . .

"Okay, so I can't wait any longer. Where the hell are you? Anyway, here's the thing . . . I'm going to tell Supes how I really feel. He was kind of distant with me last night, and it got me thinking . . . where are my priorities? Are they with the guy I'm crazy about, who makes me feel like the woman I never thought I could be, or are they with my editor, who I know I can never please—no matter how hard I work? So, I've made my decision. I don't care if my career suffers for it, I'm not pushing Supes anymore—it doesn't matter who he pretends to be in the daylight hours. When he's ready to share that part of his life with me, he will. So, what do you think? Am I crazy? Call me! We're going out again tonight, and I want to know if I'm doing the right thing."

In his stupor, Clark had picked up the iron from the wrong side, and the hot metal plate was burning against his flesh . . . steam rising without him noticing.

Chloe grabbed the iron from him. "Oh man, bad timing."

Clark nodded slowly, his mind spinning cobwebs of confusion. "Yeah, especially since I totally forgot that I'd also made plans with Lois tonight."

Thinking hard, Chloe stared at Clark until the right words came. "Who do you feel like being tonight? Clark Kent, the true blue farm boy from Smallville, Kansas . . . or Superman, Hero to the World?"

He gave a half-smile. "Sometimes the tights give me a wedgie, so I think I'll go with the Chinos."

Chloe laughed. "Geez, Clark. I never knew your buns of steel were so sensitive!"

**Chapter 5**

_ Downtown Metropolis _

Clark had made it back to Metropolis just before six-thirty—dropping off his duffle bag, and cruising to Lana's hotel in his maroon Envoy. He had purchased the SUV a few years ago, out of necessity . . . to look normal, not because he needed it to get around. In fact, it irritated him to have to drive, when he could run or fly anywhere in no time flat. Well, almost no time. It usually took him about ten minutes to get to New York City to see Chloe, but he was shaving off seconds everyday—timing himself on a regular basis.

All of his abilities were slowly improving, and he'd been working on them with more passion than ever. Clark was determined to live up to his name—_Superman_—the hero who could do anything. He'd failed enough times to know that wasn't true, but so far, those shortcomings hadn't occurred in public . . . and he hoped to keep it that way.

Realizing there wouldn't be time to eat before they did their ring shopping, Clark had suggested that Lana grab a snack when they were speaking on the phone earlier. When he picked her up in the hotel lobby, Clark's head just about spun around on his neck.

Lana was wearing a white halter top, with black trousers that fit her all too well for a normal man not to fall on the floor. It was a good thing Clark had super-strength, but his legs still felt like Jell-o. The site of so much of her tanned, smooth skin, on her shoulders, arms and neck, caused not only his eyes, but his chest to burn.

Chloe had coordinated them well. Just as Clark was leaving Chloe's apartment, Lana had phoned her back to say that she'd tried on everything in her closet, but couldn't find the right outfit—and needed Chloe's advice. The thought of Lana being so excited, as well as nervous, about their date gave Clark even more confidence that he'd done the right thing by asking her out so soon. _Just don't mess up!_ He warned himself, over and over again.

Clark wanted to say something that took Lana's breath away when he saw her, but all that came out was a muffled, "Hiiiiiiii . . . " And then he just trailed off, his own breath being stolen.

He saw Lana swallow, with her beautiful eyes as wide as saucers. "Wow, you look . . . umm, _very_ nice in black."

"Thanks," Clark said, with a gigantic grin. He'd have to name his first child after Chloe for making him look so good tonight.

After a few more, oooooo's, and ahhhhh's, from each of them, they headed to the downtown shopping district, where all three jewelry stores were located. Lana went on and on about how much she loved Clark's SUV. She loved the color—maroon, then she said how much she loved being up so high, like a truck, since she was so used to riding in city cabs.

"I can't wait to get my own car," Lana said. "I've never needed one until now."

Clark wanted to hand over the keys and say she could have his SUV, since he didn't need it anyway, but how could he explain that? _Go ahead and take it, Lana. It only slows me down—topping out at a measly 120 miles per hour. Paaahhleeesssee. I'm working up to light-speed right now. I've been able to pass bullets and catch them in my hand since I was fifteen._

Nah, that probably wasn't a first date type of conversation.

"You're welcome to borrow this whenever you'd like," Clark said, trying to keep his eyes on the road. He cheated a few times—looking Lana over at super-speed—every inch of her. "I don't drive much, I take the subway a lot." That was true, but it was usually at night, while he was looking for troublemakers.

"Thanks, Clark," Lana said, truly sounding grateful. "You've got a sweet set of wheels."

_You have no idea,_ Clark wanted to say. It wasn't that he was feeling arrogant, just unusually good about himself—as plain Clark Kent.

When they reached the first jewelry shop, Clark took Mr. Olsen's notes from his pocket, and did his best to read aloud the chicken scratch on the creased sheet of paper: Store #1—Downtown Diamonds . . . I know diamonds, and these scoundrels have an unusually vast collection with a horrid yellow tint. They were trying to sell one to me at a premium. Let's put an end to this abomination.

The notes for the next two stores were similar, all complaining about the low quality of diamonds being peddled as rare gems.

After a quick planning session, of how they could sell themselves as a starry-eyed couple, Clark opened the passenger door and helped Lana out.

Just before they reached the store entrance, Lana stopped and looked up to Clark. "Maybe we should hold hands," she said, then bit her bottom lip, looking uncertain.

Clark swallowed. "Yeah, of course. Otherwise, you know, it might not be believable."

Lana nodded, inching her hand a few inches closer to Clark's. Clark looked down, taking the tiny hand in his and hoping he wouldn't accidentally crush her thin, delicate fingers. He smiled, making eye contact with Lana, and thinking of how perfect their hands felt together, then opened the door of Downtown Diamonds.

An older salesman in a crisp, expensive suit, greeted them right away, asking their names in a forced accent—_metro-snobby._

"I'm Isobel," Lana said right away, surprising Clark.

He followed with his own made up name . . . well, kind of. It was too short of notice for Clark to think of anything other than . . . "Kal," he said, shaking the man's hand as he cleared his throat.

When the salesman turned to escort them to the glass cases, Lana whispered. "Cool name."

"You, too. Who's Isobel?"

Lana leaned closer. "A distant ancestor I've been studying. She was a _very_ naughty girl."

Clark raised his brows. "How naughty are we talking here?"

"She was burned at the stake."

"Oh! Well, there's nothing like having a witch in the family."

"Pardon?" asked the salesman, spinning on his heels to face them again.

Clark put his arm around Lana and gave her a gentle squeeze. "I was just saying how excited our family will be when they learn we're engaged." He slid his hand down the length of Lana's bare arm, and could've sworn he felt her shiver—so he brought her closer, in case she was cold. Whether or not that was true, it was an excuse to keep touching her.

"Yes, it's a wonderful announcement to make," said the salesman. "How long have you two been together?"

"It feels like forever. Doesn't it, sweetie?" Lana said, grinning up at Clark—who almost laughed because she so easily called him a pet name.

Clark looked back lovingly. "And at the same time, it seems like we just met."

"Ahh! Young love is so beautiful," the salesman said, ushering them to two velvet padded seats in front of a long glass case of diamonds. "Is there a certain style of ring you have in mind?"

"One that matches the sparkle in La— " Clark caught his mistake just in time, "Isobel's eyes."

It was obvious to Clark that Lana had to stifle a giggle. "Oh, snookims, you're just too sweet."

From there, their act became more and more ridiculous—both of them nearly forgetting their purpose for being in the store. The exasperated salesman seemed to be growing less fond of _young love_ with every new ring he pulled out of the case for Lana to try.

Clark studied each diamond carefully, not only for a yellow tint, but using his super-vision to scan for serious defects. He didn't see anything suspicious at all. 

Finally, Clark said, "I want something really special for my sugar bear. Something unique—as rare as she is. Do you have rings in a higher class than this selection?"

"Oh, yes!" the salesman said, his eyes bulging. "I usually don't show our most precious gems to, well, those who are just starting out, but perhaps you'll find what you're looking for in this exclusive case over here. Follow me, if you will."

Lana gave Clark a wink of approval as they walked hand in hand to a display of enormous, sparkling gems. "My goodness," Lana said, making herself comfy on another velvet chair. "These are stunning!"

Clark could tell that she was truly in awe. And so was he—he'd never seen such an interesting array of jewelry. Right away, Lana pointed out a ring with an emerald-cut pink center diamond, with classic white diamonds on each side.

The salesman was quick to retrieve the ring and slip it on Lana's finger. "Wow . . . wow." Lana moved her hand at alternating angles—the store lights catching the facets of the diamonds and giving the ring the appearance of a twinkling star. "This is the one."

Clark involuntarily coughed. They hadn't talked about what he should do if she found a ring she liked. Umm, was he supposed to buy it? Twelve thousand dollars was a lot to lay down on a first date.

Lana startled and looked at Clark when he coughed, then her face went bright red. "Uhh . . . what I mean, is that, well, it's beautiful." She hurried and took the ring off and handed it to the salesman.

He winked at Clark. "Perhaps Kal and I should talk for a moment," he said to Lana.

Clark shifted in his seat, then Lana grabbed his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Actually, I'd rather he come back and choose the ring himself. He now knows what settings I like."

_Phew!_ Clark wiped his forehead, which was feeling like a blast furnace. "Yeah, I . . . want to surprise you," he said. His attention was then drawn to some diamonds in the same case that _definitely_ had a yellow tint to them . . . but they were gorgeous. "What about these yellow diamonds, sweetheart?"

Lana followed Clark's line of vision, having still had her eyes stuck on the pink stone. "Oh, I love canary diamonds, they're breathtaking." She squinted, then smiled at Clark. "You don't think—"

"Yeah," Clark said, amused at the possibility that they'd found Mr. Olsen's _yellow junk diamonds_.

The salesman cleared his throat, looking between the two of them. "Can I answer a question about our stunning canary diamond collection? We're quite lucky to have secured such, rare, exquisite gems."

"I'm sure," Clark said, trying not to laugh. "And yes, I have a question. These 'canary' diamonds are bright yellow . . . but I thought yellow was a flaw in diamonds."

Nodding, the man said, "In white diamonds, yes. But these are much more unique than a typical gemstone. They're enhanced and treated to bring out their natural beauty . . . a brilliant yellow coloring. It's a very expensive process, and thus, are sold at a premium."

Lana was smiling now, shaking her head in shock. "Interesting. Have you ever had anyone doubt their quality, being yellow?"

The salesman gave a sliver of a smile, then he burst into laughter. "Just last week, a man—well known, in fact—brought his wife in for an anniversary gift, and just wouldn't believe that we would carry such 'riff raff.' I tried to explain, but he wouldn't hear of it. It was really quite hysterical."

"Riiiiiighttt," Clark said, standing. "Well, at least Lana and I know a good stone when we see it. We'll keep these beautiful canary diamonds in mind."

When Clark looked down to Lana, she had wide, hurt, eyes . . . then she smacked his arm. "I can't believe you just called me your _ex-girlfriend's_ name! You jerk!" She spun around and headed toward the door, pouting.

Clark hit his head, realizing he'd just called her Lana instead of Isobel. "Oh, man! I'm such an idiot!" he said, waving to the salesman as he chased after Lana. 

"Yes. Yes, you are," the salesman said, with a dropped jaw.

When Clark caught up with Lana, who was in hysterics leaning against Clark's SUV, he said, "I need serious acting lessons. Sorry I almost blew our cover."

"Who cares? It made it all the more fun," she said. "It's not often that I get away with being a drama queen."

"Yeah, you were fantastic," Clark said, laughing along with her. He wanted to reach out and hold her hands that she was dangling so casually in front of her. But he couldn't . . . they weren't pretending anymore. "So, do we even need to go to the other two stores, or are you just as satisfied as I am that Mr. Olsen was talking about the canary diamonds?"

"Oh, I'm definitely convinced those were the diamonds he was freaking out over," Lana answered, tipping her head. "But that was so much fun, I don't mind doing it again."

Clark nodded, happy that she felt the same way as he did. "That way we can assure Mr. Olsen that we were meticulous in our _investigation_."

They joked around about Mr. Olsen's theory as they walked to the next jewelry store, two blocks away. The whole way there, Clark wanted to hold Lana's hand, but still didn't dare. He smiled when she slipped her hand in his just as they reached the store entrance.

The next two visits were just as silly as before, the two of them having a blast acting so out of character. They were quick this time, though, going straight to the canary diamonds and confirming that Mr. Olsen had been scrutinizing them the previous week. It was the same story each time—and salesmen in both stores had been in stitches over their run in with Metropolis' most eccentric man.

Clark and Lana didn't sit down for dinner until nine. They were both starving, but had been having too much fun to notice until they were looking at their menus at Kung-Pow's. Lana was thrilled to be trying out the food that Chloe had praised for years, and Clark was happy to oblige. Chloe had got him hooked on the restaurant, just the same as every other friend she'd ever recommended the place to.

The food was fantastic, but the company was even better. Where Clark was previously worried about a first date being so awkward, he couldn't believe how well he'd gotten to know Lana in just a few hours. He was surprisingly relaxed around her and didn't want the night to end.

On the way to his SUV, he took a chance that she was having just as good of a time as he was. "There's a playground around the corner that I've been wanting to check out for a while . . . my dad used to take me there as a kid when we'd come to Metropolis. You feeling up to giving the swings a try, or would you like to go home and get some rest?" It was nearly eleven, and they had to work in the morning, so Clark would've accepted either answer. But he was hoping for a certain one.

Lana smiled. "I'm definitely feeling up to some playground action," she said. "After a night like this, I doubt I'll sleep for a week!"

Neither would Clark . . . he was already sure of that.

**Chapter 6**

_ Downtown Metropolis _

Lana had been trying all night to avoid gawking with an open mouth at Clark—his distinct cheek bones, his full inviting lips . . . his eyes that made her melt whenever he so much as glanced her way.

And, oh boy, his impossibly perfect body just had to be ignored altogether, or she would find herself at the mercy of all sorts of reckless impulses.

She found herself debating with her inner voice of reason. Here was this guy, who seemed utterly ideal for her, so what was the use in holding back? Even if they'd only just met. There were less ladylike things than kissing on a first date, right? She wasn't the type of girl to do anything more than that, and she was sure Clark wasn't that type of guy.

So why not just give him a little nudge in the right direction—take the verbal flirting to the next level by slipping her hand back in his, even though she no longer had an excuse to do so.

But that was just it. Lana wasn't the forward type. She'd never had to be, and she was determined not to start now. Clark was a big boy—a bit shy, but if and when he started to like her, she was sure he'd have the courage to let her know. Yep, that's what she had to do—let Clark be the man he was, and take the initiative.

But, _Oh those lips!_ She had to force her eyes from them as Clark spoke. Instead, she watched her feet grazing the grass of the playground as if she was walking on air—and she sure felt like it.

"So, now I see why you wanted to hide today when you spotted Mr. Olsen in the hallway," Lana said, sitting in a swing and looking up to Clark. "This must not be the first _interesting_ assignment he's thrown your way."

Clark grabbed the neighboring swing and tossed it over the high supporting a-frame, so it would be the right height for him. "Well, it's the first time Mr. Olsen has given me a fiancée, but believe it or not, it's not the craziest thing he's had me do. Not even close."

Lana raised a brow, swinging along side him and enjoying the soft June breeze as it swept across her face and arms. "How did he top this?"

Clark smiled, sending Lana's head into spinning mode. "A few months ago, Mr. Olsen sent me to investigate a case he called, _The Phantom of the Opera._ Only this phantom didn't live beneath the stage and sing like an angel . . . oh, no. _This_ ghoul was much more creative. He lived in the men's restroom on the second floor of the Metropolis Opera House, flushing toilets and turning on sinks to scare away visitors."

"How terrifying," Lana said, laughing.

"That's exactly what Mr. Olsen said when he came to me near tears, frightened out of his mind," Clark said. Lana could tell that he was trying to keep a straight face, but it wasn't really working. "So I went to the opera the next night with an open mind. I don't know what Chloe has told you about Smallville, but I've seen my fair share of the unexplained, and felt that it was possible, for once, that Mr. Olsen had stumbled onto something supernatural. And . . . " Clark trailed off, with his charming laugh, "when I walked into the restroom, I have to admit I was a little creeped out. A full chorus of toilets flushed as I made my way to the other side, one right after another . . . and the sinks were turning on and off just as frequently."

Lana was intrigued now, having stopped her swing to listen more intently.

Clark paused, coming to a halt as well, and giving a darling smirk. "But being the brave man that I am, I stopped still in the center of the chaos and the room instantly fell silent—all except for the sink and toilet that I was standing directly in front of. So I took two steps to the side, and they turned off, but the next sink and toilet started flowing and flushing. And then I saw the _phantom menace_ and started laughing. The automated red sensors were set at too far of a range, and were oddly over-sensitive! But I had a lot of fun running back and forth for the next few minutes, testing out my theory."

"It's good to know that you're so easily entertained," Lana said, giggling like a school girl—who truly belonged on the playground. "But I'm sure Mr. Olsen was disappointed. Poor guy."

"Actually, he thanked me for weeks, saying he hadn't been able to sleep since the night of the encounter. He was grateful to get over his fear of public restrooms."

"He ought to check out some of the public restrooms in Manhattan—they surely give _me_ the heebie jeebies!" Lana said, starting up her swing again—side to side this time, where she could inch closer to Clark.

"Do you think you'll miss anything about Manhattan?" Clark asked.

"Sure, there's a lot to miss," Lana said, thinking of some of her favorite people and places. "But it was time for me to leave. I'm excited to start a new life here."

"Did you grow up in New York City?"

"No, but close," she answered, feeling that Clark was genuinely interested, not just asking an empty—small talk, question. "I was raised on Long Island. But the funny thing is, I have roots in Smallville—from a couple of generations back. My grandmother lived there until her sister, Louise, was murdered and the entire family moved away."

Clark squinted, then gave a far off look for a moment. "To Long Island, huh?" he asked, but Lana wasn't sure that his delayed response was related to where she grew up. "Is your family still there?"

Lana swallowed, knowing this news would dampen their perfect night. "My parents died in a car accident just after I graduated from high school," she said. "And I'm an only child, so I've pretty much been on my own for a while now."

All life drained out of Clark, confirming Lana's fear that such a revelation would ruin the mood. "I'm so sorry to hear that," he said, his sincerity so genuine that Lana was put at ease. "Although my own father passed away around that same time, I can't imagine losing _both_ my parents."

They spent the next half hour or so talking about the topic and discovered how similar their experiences had been of healing and moving on with their lives—doing their best to become the people their parents always wanted them to be. They both felt that even though time takes the sting away, little by little, nothing could ever replace what was lost . . . that losing someone so close and important, changes who you are. It's as if they take a piece of you with them, but patch the gap with a portion of their own soul. In some ways you're left more complete than ever, but feel empty all the same.

"My mom would really like you. You're the kind of girl she keeps expecting me to bring home," Clark said, surprising Lana with his sudden revelation.

Lana smiled, flattered, but too curious to pass up an opportunity. "Exactly what _type_ of girls have you taken home to meet your mother?"

Clark laughed, standing from the swing and helping Lana out of her own. "So far, only the invisible ones."

"Which explains why she'd be _so_ impressed with me!" Lana said, following Clark to a park bench a short distance away. "A real flesh and bone girl—how refreshing."

"Yeah, and one who happens to be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I hope I haven't scared you today by acting so weird—I don't usually stare at people—I promise," Clark said, gently placing his hands on Lana's bare upper arms. She shivered at his touch and Clark noticed. "Let's get back to the car. You must be freezing."

Lana released the breath she'd been holding. "Not at all. I'm actually quite warm at the moment."

He smiled, taking the smallest of steps closer, making Lana's heart come to a standstill. "Me, too," Clark whispered.

Just as Lana thought something magical was about to happen, sirens ripped through the night air coming closer toward them, then speeding by, accompanied by dozens of flashing lights. 

It was impossible, as well as insensitive, not to mention the occurrence.

"Wow. Something awful must have happened," Lana said, turning to watch the convoy of emergency vehicles make its way further down the city street. "I don't know if I've ever seen so many—"

Clark jumped on the bench to get a better view. Then he did something strange—he squinted as if he could see through the darkness better that way.

"It's a good thing Metropolis has Superman," Lana said, looking up to Clark with the confidence that everything would be alright. "I hope he gets there in time."

"Yeah. He better," Clark said, sounding oddly breathless. Then he turned back to Lana, stepped down to the ground and put his warm hands on her shoulders, stroking her skin with his thumbs. She didn't know where one session of chills ended that night, and another one began. "Lana, this looks pretty serious. I should go see if I can help out."

As courageous as that sounded, Lana was disappointed that he wanted to leave. "Oh, okay."

"Besides, White will kill me if I miss covering an event like this."

"Right," Lana said, forcing a smile. "Maybe I should go as well."

Clark hesitated. "Actually, it looks like it might be a high rise fire. I don't want you anywhere near it. Anything could happen."

Lana bit her lip, knowing he was right, but wanting to be treated as a hard-nosed reporter right then, not a delicate young woman. "I'll take a cab back to my hotel." _Maybe,_ she told herself.

Clark reached in his pocket and retrieved his keys. "Take my Envoy," he said, walking her toward the SUV, not too far from where they were. "I'll take the subway, it's right around the corner and will get me as close as I can to the fire."

He was acting so anxious, Lana wasn't sure what to think. She took the keys, nodding, then started to walk off.

"Lana," Clark said, catching up with her again. "I know this is a crummy way to end the night, but I hope you've had a good enough time that you'll let me make this up to you."

She smiled. How could she help it with such an sweet face looking back at her? "I'll look forward to it, Clark. Be careful."

"I will," he said, racing off toward the subway station. "See you tomorrow!"

_Or sooner,_ Lana thought, twirling the keys around her finger. Superman was sure to be at the fire, so this was a perfect time to see him in action. She had some investigating of her own to do, but hoped Clark wouldn't see her there.

**Chapter 7**

_ Downtown Metropolis Luthor Sky Tower _

Lana could _feel_ the panic in the air, thick with terror, as she walked the two blocks from where she had parked Clark's Envoy to the site of the high rise fire. The top portion of Luthor Sky Tower was completely ablaze—ten floors of raging inferno.

"How could this happen?" she said aloud, gasping. She thought of all the people who must have been snug in their beds at this hour. Save some sort of miracle, there was sure to be an unimaginable loss of life. She shivered, remembering the day the twin towers fell in Manhattan.

It had taken her a full hour to get to the fire. Finding streets that weren't blocked was impossible, especially since she didn't know the city. She still had her New York Times press pass in her handbag, pulling it out to persuade an officer to let her by. But she could only get so close—the emergency vehicles were scattered everywhere.

A man being rolled into an ambulance pulled off his oxygen mask to speak to a paramedic. "He saved us. Superman saved my wife and I. Please find her."

"I'm sure she's on her way to the hospital, sir," answered the paramedic, replacing the oxygen mask. "Along with the others Superman has pulled from the fire. Without him, I doubt we'd have many survivors at all."

_Superman IS here!_ Lana thought with relief. She wasn't thinking about her luck as a reporter, she was thinking of how fortunate the victims of the fire were. Of course Superman was there, how could he have been doing anything else? From what she'd heard and read, he was always around when Metropolis needed him most.

Lana shook her head, making her way closer and closer to the chaos. How could Perry White ever suspect Superman of living a secret life of crime? The idea was completely preposterous!

Just as she was blocked from getting any closer to the radiating heat of the building, a blur of red and blue—unlike anything she'd ever seen—sped past her. For only a moment, she saw a flash of raven black hair when the blur slowed, appearing to deposit a coughing woman on an ambulance stretcher, out of thin air.

"Was that _him_?" Lana said, not really to anyone in particular. The question was a silly one, and she knew that. It had only been said out loud because of her shock.

"Of course it was _him_!" answered a female police officer, still blocking Lana from moving too close. She looked Lana over like she was from outer space. "Do you know anyone else who can move that fast?"

"No . . . umm, I'm new here," Lana said, feeling completely stupid. "I just moved from Manhattan."

"Oh! Well, that explains it," said the officer. "You only have the web-slinging variety of superhero where you come from. Boring."

Lana put her hand on her hip, tipping her head. "Excuse me! Spiderman is every bit the hero that Superman is!" she said, ready to get into a _MY City's Superhero is Better than YOUR City's Superhero_, brawl.

But then, the blur was back . . . and this time the raven black hair was attached to a head . . . and, oh my gosh, a smile! Such a smile. It was pretty much all she could see of Superman's face—it was covered in ash. But something was quite clear, she'd only seen that great of a grin on one other guy.

It was funny that she'd met both men in a single day.

"Don't worry, your family is safe," Superman said to the grateful pajama-clad man he had just rescued. Then he was off again. Lana watched more closely this time, but still couldn't see where he went. Over and over again, Superman returned with someone new, never pausing for more than a moment or so.

_Does he breathe?_ Lana wondered. She knew Superman was from another planet—though he'd never revealed the name of it—but was it possible that he didn't need oxygen? Did he eat? She knew he liked women, so he couldn't be too different from Earth men. Could he? Her mind was racing with curiosity, none of the questions entering her thoughts being the ones her editor wanted answers to.

Soon, Lana heard a tumult of noise coming up behind her. She turned to see a man—who looked to be in his early thirties, but bald—fighting his way through a crowd of officers. "Let me go! I need to find my father!"

"Mr. Luthor, please calm down," said an officer, with his hands on the younger man's chest.

The guy they were calling Mr. Luthor grabbed the officer's walkie-talkie from his suit. "This is Lex Luthor! If anyone knows where my father is, bring him to the ambulance station now!" He dropped the walkie-talkie, looking lost and hopeless.

Lana's heart was gripped with empathy, knowing how awful it felt to await the news of whether or not a parent had survived a tragedy. Her own father had made it as far as surgery following the accident her parents were involved in. It had been horrible enough to learn that her mother had died on impact, but Lana had sat in the waiting room, hour after excruciating hour, pleading with any power that would listen to _please, please_, don't let her lose them both . . . but she did.

No matter how many friends had come and gone, no one had ever made Lana feel whole again. She was very much alone in this world.

Lana turned and walked toward the weeping man, who was on his knees now. She didn't want him to feel as alone as she was in that waiting room. Kneeling beside him, she said, "Mr. Luthor, I'm Lana Lang. I know we haven't met, but I hope I can offer some comfort as you wait for news of your father."

Lex looked up weakly, focused, then said, "Thank you. He lives on the top floor . . . I don't . . . I just don't know how . . . "

Lana knew what he was trying to say. He couldn't imagine how anyone could survive the flames that were spewing from the top of the building. Then the name of the high rise clicked in Lana's head—Luthor Sky Tower. This man's father must own the building.

She continued to offer soft words of hope to Lex, then suddenly he looked up, his face drooping even further as he slowly stood. "No! No!"

Lana glanced over her shoulder, seeing a lifeless body being carried toward them in Superman's strong arms. Lex raced over, screaming over and over again. "No! No!"

She knew the word well—the only word that came when terror this deep ripped through one's soul. It still echoed in her mind from that tragic day.

Being this close to Superman for the first time was not what she imagined the moment would be like. Even though she was behind several people now, she could see that his eyes were glossy, his blackened cheeks stained from where tears had obviously fallen. He didn't seem to notice anyone around him, only the grieving son of the dead man he held in his arms.

"Lex, I'm so sorry," Superman said, his voice solemn and filled with pain.

Lex stroked his father's face, making Lana start to weep. Then Lex looked up to Superman, towering above him. "You liar!" he shouted, shocking everyone in sight. "You left him for last! You knew where he lived! You _let him die_!"

Lana threw her hand over her mouth, wishing she could've done the same to Lex just as easily. People tend to say things they don't mean when they're in such a raw emotional state.

"No, Lex. I would never—" Superman started.

"You hated my father! You were always trying to nail him for one thing or another! Well, now you've taken care of him, haven't you?"

There was whispering all around Lana. She only understood a comment here and there. Many were saying that it was true—Superman and Lionel Luthor were known enemies. Others were saying that Lex was being irrational—Superman would never let personal differences stand in his way of saving a life.

Lana wasn't exactly sure what to think, but she was certain that Superman had done his best to get to _whomever_ he could in that building. She'd seen him save dozens of people, how could he have chosen which floor to start at—the top or the bottom. Does the floor number make one person's life more important than another's?

No, of course not. And Lex would surely come to his senses and realize that. He had to be somewhat of a decent man to be grieving over the loss of his father this intensely.

Superman gently set the elder Mr. Luthor down on a stretcher, then walked away. Lana felt like going after him. Here he had saved all these people, and was leaving with his head down. Though officers and firefighters were trailing after him, offering their thanks and support, he still continued to mope. She felt like Superman should be carried out on shoulders like the triumphant hero he was.

Lana looked between he and Lex, trying to decide what to do. If she called after Superman, it would probably stir Lex up again. He had finally calmed, kneeling beside his father. 

No, she'd have to find another opportunity to meet Superman—somehow.

By the time Lana left the scene, after helping however she could, it was three in the morning. She was used to walking the streets of New York City at night, but being unfamiliar with the alleyways of Metropolis got her on edge quickly as she made her way back to Clark's Envoy. Now she wished that she had somehow bumped into him at the fire, whether or not he would disapprove of her being where she acted like she wouldn't go.

Just as Lana came to the lot where she'd parked, a man stepped out from behind a truck. "Hey, sweetheart, a bit late for a stroll, ain't it?"

Her heart stopped, then started racing at light speed. Why hadn't she brought her stun gun? Damn!

The guy was coming in fast. There wasn't time to run. When he got close enough, reaching out for her, she let him get the first grab of her arm, then spun around, back-kicked him in the knee, elbowed his face, then when he stumbled back, she did the round kick of her life. All the while, she screamed for help, as well as courage.

The guy was screaming as well.

Her self-defense instructor would've been proud, but she wasn't about to stick around for round two! She started running, then heard a blood-curdling screech from her attacker—then a thud of something hitting metal.

Lana whirled around, having no idea what to expect. What she got was more of a shock than she could've imagined—a big S in her face.

She looked up slowly . . . up, up, up. He was _huge!_

"Are you okay?" Superman asked. "I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner."

Swallowing down what seemed to be a rock stuck in her throat, Lana said, "Yeah, I'm alright." She looked around. "Where is he?"

"I tossed him into the dumpster."

She gave a laugh of relief. "Good idea. That's the perfect place for gutter trash."

"Actually, I think you did a better job of taking care of him than I did," Superman said, with that smile Lana had admired earlier in the night. He'd cleaned up now, so she could see what he really looked like. Wow. They grew their men quite handsome here in Kansas, or wherever he was from. His newspaper pictures didn't do him justice. With the streetlight catching his eyes just right, Lana was stunned by how brilliantly blue they were. "I guess there's one less woman I need to worry about in this city. Nice job."

Lana tipped her head. "You saw what happened?"

"Well, I heard you screaming, then shot down from the sky, but man, you were quick," he said, giving a darling smirk. No wonder he made Lois swoon. Oh yeah, she should mention Lois.

"Thanks so much, really," she said. "And I know Lois Lane. We work together and decided just today to be roommates."

"Really?" Superman said, not acting too surprised. Then his eyes grew wide—like he'd just remembered something. "Oh crap!"

Lana laughed. "Superman says 'crap?'"

"I say and do a lot of things I shouldn't," he said, lowing his head then raising his eyes to meet hers. "Like forgetting to cancel a date."

"Oh my," Lana said, folding her arms. "I'm sure she'll understand though. You were off saving lives . . . which by the way, I wanted to tell you what an amazing job you did. Forget about what Lex Luthor said, he wasn't thinking clearly."

"You were there?" Superman asked, squinting. "I can't believe I didn't see you."

"Well, you were busy—to say the least. And you don't know who I am, so why would you notice me in such a large crowd?"

He smiled. "Trust me, you wouldn't be hard to spot in a crowd."

Lana looked down, feeling oddly awkward. She knew what he meant—but this was Lois' boyfriend. He shouldn't say things like that. Maybe Clark was right, that Superman's feelings for Lois were fading. But either way, she didn't feel right flirting with him—especially since she was already so swept up by someone else she'd just met.

"Would you mind walking me to my car?" Lana said, trying to wiggle out of the situation.

"You mean Clark Kent's car?" Superman said, walking to her side.

She looked at him in shock. "Do you know what _everyone's_ vehicle in Metropolis looks like?"

Superman gave a wry smile. "They don't call me Superman for nothing." Then he laughed when Lana didn't look impressed. "I'm joking. Clark and I are good friends."

"You are?" Lana said, fishing out the keys from her handbag. "Well, I guess that makes sense. You both know Lois so well."

Superman leaned up against the Envoy, folding his arms. "You'd be surprised how many common friends Clark and I have."

Lana nodded, uncertain if that was a self-compliment, or kudos to Clark for being so popular. "My friend, Chloe Sullivan, says she's met you."

"Yeah, the reporter-extraordinaire."

"That's the one," Lana said, impressed that he remembered the meeting. Chloe had told her about it a few years ago. "And you probably won't be too surprised to learn that I'm a reporter as well." Then she remembered that she hadn't even told him her name. "Lana Lang."

"Nice to meet you, Lana," he said, stretching out his hand.

Lana shook it, having the feeling of familiarity. It had been a strange day, she decided, feeling so at ease with people she didn't even know.

"I'm sure we'll run into one another again," Lana said, climbing into the Envoy. "Especially with Lois and I being roommates."

Superman nodded. "Can I just make something clear before you leave?"

Lana was just about to shut the door, but stopped, curious about the serious tone of his voice. "Sure."

Taking a deep breath, he said, "Lionel Luthor was one of the first people I pulled from the fire. He had already passed when I got there—along with his three security guards, who were staying at his penthouse. When his son Lex came, I wanted to be the one to deliver the body. It was obviously a mistake."

"I'm so sorry about what happened," Lana said. "I'm sure you did everything you could. You lived up to your name tonight, and everyone will know that."

"I hope so," Superman said. "As far as I know, those four men were the only casualties."

Lana smiled. "That's truly amazing. The rest are alive because of you."

"Thanks. After something like this happens, I feel like giving up on this whole suit and cape thing."

"Well don't. We all need a hero," Lana said with sincerity.

Superman motioned to the dumpster, with a tip of his head. "Especially guys who make the mistake of picking on _you._"

**Chapter 8**

_ Daily Planet News Floor _

Clark's desk phone rang three times before he even noticed. He blinked out of his sleep-deprived coma, and answered, "Daily Clark, this is the Planet speaking."

Suddenly, it seemed like there was surround sound laughing—coming from both the receiver and somewhere else. "I didn't keep you up _that_ late!"

Clark sat up, trying to draw enough energy to speak to Lana in coherent sentences. "Are you calling me from your desk?" He squinted through the other side of his cubicle, but his x-ray vision was far from working this morning. He couldn't even see his computer screen clearly.

"Yep, and there's a reason I'm being sneaky, so don't come over here," Lana said. "We need to talk. I'll meet you on the roof in ten minutes."

Before Clark could say, _But we ARE talking, Lana,_ like any typical guy who couldn't take a hint would, Lana hung up.

Clark's mind finally clicked on. _Oh! She wants to be alone._ Okay, what could that mean? Too many things for Clark to imagine in his state . . . except for one thing. 

_Maybe she wants to finish up what we left undone last night._ Clark stood in a flash, knocking his chair over. Yeah, he could definitely go for that!

While Clark was trying to get his chair off the floor, Lana walked by in a hot baby doll dress. She gave him a sideways glance with a sultry smile, then kept going.

Lois had been right yesterday, Lana _did_ make him drool on his shoes.

He shook his head, hoping he could wake up enough to control his heat vision on the roof. It had better be a breezy day . . . but then, Lana was wearing that tiny baby doll dress, so wind would make things even worse.

Oh man, Clark couldn't wait another ten minutes. He had to follow her right then. But there was only one elevator that went to the roof, and he couldn't super-speed the stairs again. Not because he was tired—that suddenly wasn't a problem anymore, but because Lana would wonder how he made it up there before she did.

He made his way as casually as possible across the news floor, then through the hallway toward the elevators. Lana had already taken the elevator that went to the roof, so he'd have to be tricky. Since she was only a few floors up by then, he ran five flights of stairs, then requested her elevator to stop.

The doors opened, and there she was—first with a stunned look, then a bright smile. "Well, you surely woke up in a hurry, Kal."

Clark stepped inside the elevator. "Fancy meeting you here, Isobel," he said, leaning against the wall, near the control panel. He pushed the button to close the doors in a hurry. "You don't plan to cast any magical spells on me today, do you?"

Lana scrunched her face in contemplation. "Umm, maybe. How well did my spell work the last time?"

Dang, she looked so smokin' hot, Clark wanted to forget the fact that he was a gentleman—and especially that he'd only been on one date with her. "Better than you can imagine. It was an exciting night."

"I wasn't talking about the fire."

"Neither was I," Clark answered, not believing they were so blatantly flirting. He'd never done this in his life. They weren't even looking at one another, just staring straight ahead like it was small talk—which made it all the more alluring. 

It only took a few more comments to make Clark lose his balance and accidentally bump the emergency stop button with his elbow. They came to a rough halt, just before the exit to the roof. Lana looked at Clark and started laughing. "You're being a bit naughty today, aren't you?"

He gave an impish grin, looking over his shoulder as he tried to get the elevator going again. "I didn't _plan_ this. You're the one who invited me to the roof." He continued pushing buttons, but nothing happened. "We might be stuck here for a while."

Lana walked over to the doors. "Maybe we could pry the doors open and crawl out." She looked down at her dress. "Well, you could crawl out first, then help me."

Clark smiled. "Good idea," he said, faking a grimace as he parted the doors, little by little. 

"It shouldn't be that tough, I've had to do it myself before."

"Oh," Clark said, pulling the doors open in an instant. "Dang, there's only a few inches of space. You couldn't even—"

Clark stopped talking mid-sentence, hearing an approaching voice from the floor they were just shy of—a very familiar one. Lana grabbed his hands from the doors, and they closed. "That's Lois!" she whispered in a panic.

He had his own reasons to worry about being caught in a elevator with Lana—Lois would never stop teasing him about it, but why was Lana so freaked out?

Unfortunately, Clark had bigger issues to worry about at the moment. It was obvious that Lois was crying. _Crying! Lois Lane—the General's daughter, weeping her eyes out._

"Chloe, I don't know what to do," Lois said, sniffing. Clark x-rayed through the floor to see Lois on her cell. "He didn't even call. He straight out stood me up!"

Lana and Clark made hesitant eye contact. It wasn't like they were eavesdropping on purpose, they didn't have much choice.

"No, that wasn't it!" Lois said. "The fire didn't start until eleven. He was supposed to be at my place at eight!"

Clark had unintentionally tuned into the other side of the conversation with his super-hearing. "Oh. Well, I'm sure he'll have a good explanation. Something must've distracted him—big time," Chloe said. She had that tone in her voice that said she was gonna freaking strangle Clark when she got a hold of him. Clark knew that tone and it made him shiver. Chloe scared him more than a mountain of Kryptonite sometimes.

Lois sniffed again. "No, Chloe. This is my fault. I've waited too long to tell him everything I should have. Supes is tired of me. I knew I wasn't good enough for him, Chlo. Let's face it, who is? And not just because he's a superhero. He's so much more than that."

Lana gave a half-smile as she tipped her head. "That's sweet," she whispered.

_Not really!_ Clark felt less than a centimeter tall. He was such a jerk—how could he forget to call Lois and cancel their date? He'd called from payphones dozens of times before to cancel, and she usually understood. This was such crappy timing for him to forget, when Lois was already self-conscious about Superman's behavior.

But, maybe Lois was only feeling this way _now_ because Superman was so obviously pulling away from her—and for good reason. Lois was right, he was getting tired of her—all of her questions and articles, revealing things he thought he'd shared in confidence. He was never sure what parts of their conversation would make it into the paper for all to read.

He'd never been able to figure out where Lois drew her line between professional and personal interest—at best, it was a blurry boundary that moved without warning.

After a few more minutes, with Lois still ripping both herself and Superman's manners, Lois started pushing the button to call the elevator. Clark saw her glance up at the floor status and pound the call button again. "Damn it! The elevator's stuck! I'm not taking the stairs, so they better fix the freaking thing fast!"

"I'm so sorry about this, Lana," Clark said to her. Her face was starting to glisten, but Clark couldn't feel the heat as well as she could. The way she was looking, however, heated him up in a different type of way.

Clark shouldn't have been thinking what he was, not with another girl crying because of him. But was he supposed to blow his chance with Lana, only to continue waiting around for a woman he'd been waiting for much too long anyway? Someone who had never made him feel nearly as confident about himself as Lana had in their first twenty-four hours together?

Lana smiled, surprising Clark by taking his hand, one finger at a time. "Who's complaining?"

Well, Lois was still doing plenty of complaining, but her voice was fading out fast as Clark returned Lana's gesture by taking a much needed breath and stepping closer to her.

That was until Lois said, " . . . and then, Chloe, you won't believe what happened this morning. I was pulling into the parking garage, and Clark's Envoy came down the opposite side of the same row—only Clark wasn't driving. It was Lana!"

Clark's eyes widened and Lana bit her lip, glancing away.

Lois laughed. "How the hell did he manage to snag _her_ so quickly? I guarantee Clark hasn't spent the night under the same roof as a woman since he lived at home with his mother!"

Lana covered her face, and Clark closed his eyes in humiliation. What part of Lois' comment was worse—that she thought he and Lana had a sleepover, or making Clark sound like the 40 Year Old Virgin? Because she was definitely wrong—he was only 25.

"I knew she thought that!" Lana whispered, pulling Clark into the far corner of the elevator by his front belt loops. "We better get away from the doors. She'll hear us."

Who cared what Lois thought? Lois who? Clark was in the corner with a gorgeous woman, one who just turned his insides out with a single tug.

"That's the reason we needed to talk," Lana said, her eyes scanning his lips like she was a hungry lion looking over a good meal. "I wanted to warn you that Lois saw me in your Envoy, in case she said something."

"She can think whatever she wants. I don't care," Clark said, catching his breath just in time to answer.

All he could think of was how good it felt for someone to want him as badly as he wanted her. He could sense it—he had every time they were together. That was, every time he was Clark Kent. When he stood in front of Lana as Superman, he sensed that she admired his courage, but wasn't a bit interested in flirting with him. _Dang, that felt good!_ He had plenty of people to respect Superman's courage, or admire him as a superhero.

Lana made Clark feel like a _man_. One who could be loved and wanted for who he was deep down inside, not just for his super-powered genetics.

Clark tucked a loose strand of hair behind Lana's ear and she smiled. "I hope you're not upset that Lois jumped to that conclusion."

"Not at all," Lana said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. She tightened her hold on Clark's belt loops, making his knees give out. Clark leaned in, an irreversible force of nature pulling him closer. The heat bouncing between them was crazy, and he was going for it. "But don't get me wrong, I'm not . . . you know, like that," Lana said with a nervous laugh. She looked away and released her grip on him. "In fact, _this_ isn't like me either."

Clark backed off, disappointed, but knowing it was probably for the best. "Lana, for some reason, I feel like I've known you a lot longer than I have. And it makes me, well, more reckless than usual," he said, unable to stop himself from admitting it. "And it's not just because you're inexplicably beautiful. There's just something . . . I don't know . . . some sort of—"

"Connection," Lana said, giving a shy smile. "I'm feeling it, too, Clark. Believe me."

"Good," he said, running his hands down the length of her delicate arms. Lana's skin was so soft, he could've kept it up all day and the thrill would've never died down. She glanced back to him, with a look that said she was enjoying his lingering touch every bit as much as he was. Clark swallowed, and asked, "Do you have plans tonight?"

Before Lana could answer, the elevator jolted to a start—going up. They only had half a floor to go before the doors would open.

"I do now," Lana said, raising a corner of her lips in a suggestive smirk.

They backed away from one another. "I'll pick you up at seven," Clark said, just as the doors opened with a ding.

Without either Clark or Lana realizing she left, Lois must've given up on the elevator and taken the stairs, because she wasn't there to see the prize waiting behind door number three—and thank heaven!

When lunchtime arrived, Clark found himself more twisted up than a triple-looping roller coaster. The majority of him wanted to forget about Lois' feelings. He'd played games with her long enough—it was time to move on. But the friendship he had with Lois was tugging at him to do something nice to make up for his mistake.

He had to admit though, that his primary reason for wanting to take care of it so quickly was because he wanted to get the guilt off his chest before his date with Lana tonight. He didn't want to think of anything but her . . . her eyes, her voice, her smile.

Clark laughed to himself when he thought about what happened in the elevator. He had almost kissed Lana. Him! The guy who didn't dare hold her hand last night at the park—even though he'd already been doing it most the night. In so many ways, he hoped they could get back to where they were in the elevator tonight, but the thought of it worried him.

He didn't want to move so fast that their foundation was built on sand. Clark felt that there could be so much more, so why take the chance of ruining it? Lana was the smart one for keeping things under control today. Had he scared her though, by acting too aggressive . . . by being too comfortable with the idea of moving so fast with someone he'd just met? Because that definitely wasn't typical for him, but she wouldn't know that.

Maybe Chloe could tell her that. Yeah, he'd have to solicit Chloe's help again. Oh . . . whoops. He forgot about the death threat he'd just received from his so-called _best friend_ on his voice mail. It went something like this: "Clark, you better be to my place ten minutes after you get off work. You're in for the tongue-lashing of your life. No, make that a butt-whooping you'll never forget. We're talking Special-K here, buddy, so be prepared."

Special-K was Chloe's way of saying Kryptonite would be involved. Obviously, she didn't mean it . . . at least he didn't think so. But she did sound pretty darn ticked. Oh well, she'd get over it. He'd pull his innocent smile on her, and Chloe would brush off his stupidity to a raging surge of Big Dumb Alien hormones.

Just to complicate matters, Lana had invited Lois to go out to lunch. Clark was certain Lana did it so she could have a chance to explain what she was doing in his car that morning. He didn't blame her for wanting to protect her reputation, but geez, he wished there was a way to keep them separated. He didn't want the girls getting all cozy and talking about their loves lives. That might cause more trouble than he could even imagine. And now, they were moving in together in three days.

Supes had to break it off with Lois, Clark knew that. But how? He wanted to let her down gently, and he was about to take that first step—by apologizing for last night, but nothing more.

Knowing that Lois' favorite flowers were wildflowers, he called several different floral shops during his lunch break. He used his cell phone, but was smart enough to know he couldn't give his card number—which would mean also giving his name. When he finally found a place that had wildflowers available for delivery that day, he asked the shop to get the order ready, then said he'd be in shortly to pay for them—with cash.

When Clark got to the floral shop, he asked one of the clerks to fill out the card for him. It read: Lois, I'm so sorry about last night. It's not what you think.

Clark had already scanned the place for any sort of surveillance cameras, so he knew Lois wouldn't be able to track him down that way if she came looking. He'd also made sure that he placed the order with one clerk over the phone—with a fake name, and paid for it with another clerk. It was quick and painless, and the flowers would be delivered to Lois' desk by the time she returned from lunch.

Clark was such a clever boy . . . or so he thought.

**Chapter 9**

_ Downtown Metropolis _

Lana's ears were literally ringing a mere ten minutes into her lunch date with Lois. She'd never heard anyone talk so fast, nor so much. Lana wondered how Superman managed to keep up with Lois, even at the speed he could move.

It was an interesting conversation, however, and Lana was not nearly as annoyed by Lois' motor mouth as Chloe had told her others were at times. Lana was quick to clarify what she was doing in Clark's Envoy that morning. She said that Mr. Olsen had sent them on a silly assignment, then Clark was concerned about helping out at the fire and left her with his Envoy. She didn't mention anything about dinner and the playground because she still wasn't sure how lightly she needed to tread with Lois. And she wasn't about to give away her early affection for Clark—for one thing, she was quite surprised herself that she was feeling this way so soon, and for another, an intelligent woman would never reveal her cards to a possible opponent if she wants to win the hand.

"That makes a lot more sense than the alternative implication," Lois said, shoveling a fork full of salad into her mouth. "Clark isn't your type. Trust me."

Lana sipped her mineral water, then calmly said, "Actually, he's a very refreshing change from the brash, arrogant city guys I'm used to."

Lois continued to chew. "Well, duh. The dude grew up scooping poop from stalls and practically drinking his milk straight from the cow's udder. So of course he's different. Women are drawn in by Clark's country charms, but you're a city girl—his nice-boy ways will get on your nerves soon enough. A real man takes control and _makes_ you feel like a woman. Clark just isn't capable of that."

Well, that answered one very important question for Lana. Lois had obviously never been stuck in a steamy elevator with Clark Kent. 

Lana could still see his devouring eyes looking back at her. She could feel that desperate ache of wanting so much more than she should from a practical stranger. But like Clark suggested, it seemed like they had known one another so much longer than they had. There was both a physical and emotional connection that she had never felt before. Just thinking about Clark's hands on her skin made her chill all over again. His strong, hungry touch, made her feel not only wanted, but _longed_ for.

Lois was _so_ wrong. Clark was very much capable of making Lana feel like a woman. In fact, she could only imagine—and she'd definitely been doing quite a bit of imagining, how it would feel to be in his arms, caressed by his delicious full lips . . . trailing down her neck . . .

"Are you sweating?" Lois asked, making Lana jump. "You spaced off for a sec. Are you feeling okay?"

_Oh, yes!_ Lana nearly answered.

"It's a bit hot in here," Lana said, dabbing her face and forehead with a napkin. "But I'm fine. So, anyway, tell me a bit more about our apartment."

Lois went on about their living arrangements, how they'd each have a separate bedroom, but would have to share a bathroom. That was fine—Lana was used to that. The rent was high, but the place was in one of the safer parts of town and the building was only a few years old—which was nearly impossible to find in such a crowded city. 

Lana had searched for a place when she was in Metropolis for her interview and hadn't found anything nearly as nice as this sounded, so she was excited to see it. The itty-bitty detail that she would be roommates with Lois was just starting to settle in.

"Why don't you come over tonight?" Lois asked.

Lana swallowed. She wasn't about to tell Lois about her date with Clark—not wanting to hear Lois tear down Clark any further—it was all bogus anyway. She didn't know Lana well enough to judge what type of guy would make her happy.

And Lana would've asked if Lois had plans with Superman, but she already knew that he would be much too tender a subject to bring up.

Lana resorted to answering, "You know, I trust you, and Chloe's been there and loves the place. So I'll just move in three days from now like we've planned—site unseen."

"Good," Lois said, waving over the waiter for the check. "Because it's a freaking mess right now and I'm not in the mood to clean."

Lois' mood was changed significantly when the two ladies returned from lunch. On her desk, was a beautiful arrangement of wildflowers. Lana smiled instantly, remembering how bad Superman had felt about forgetting his date with Lois last night.

"Well, someone sure thinks a lot of you," Lana said.

Lois was basking in the glow of the flowers, grabbing the envelope and reading the card aloud. "Lois, I'm so sorry about last night. It's not what you think." She trailed off without reading who the card was from, then shoved it back inside the envelope and whirled around to Lana. "Anyway, fun lunch. Let's do it again."

Lana hadn't meant to hang around, but Lois was so quick to open the card that she hadn't had time to leave. Lana had only been admiring the flowers and thinking how thoughtful Superman had been to send them. The message seemed like a decent enough apology though, so why was Lois acting so strangely about it?

With that question in mind, Lana made her way toward her own desk, passing Clark's empty cubicle and taking a deep breath to see if she could capture the slightest whiff of his delicious scent. She giggled to herself, knowing she hadn't been this silly over a guy since grade school. Clark made her feel so young and innocent again—the way she was before the weight of serious relationships and life-changing tragedies.

Lana's smile doubled in size when she rounded the corner to her own desk. A bouquet of exotic flowers—three times larger than Lois' bouquet—was sitting there. She threw her hand over her mouth and whispered in awe, "Oh my gosh, Clark."

When he said he was going to make up for leaving her at the playground last night, he wasn't kidding.

Lana glanced around, hoping no one was laughing at her girlish reaction, then with shaking, excited hands, she opened the envelope—immediately dropping the card to the floor. "Lex Luthor?"

She hadn't even bothered to read the message. All she needed to see was the name to feel the bitter sting of disappointment. She slumped over in her chair, wondering how Lex had even managed to remember her name in the state he was in at the fire—let alone track her down already.

Looking around in a panic—she wasn't sure why—she wanted to get rid of the flowers before Clark saw them. The sweet secretary, Heidi, who Lana had talked to a few times was away from her desk when Lois and Lana had returned from lunch, so that gave her an idea.

Lana was sure that the delivery man would've gone in through the main doors, not the back entrance to the news floor where Heidi sat, so Lana grabbed the enormous vase of flowers, barely able to manage it, and trucked it toward Heidi's desk.

Heidi was fortunately still at lunch, so Lana placed the flowers down and scribbled a note on cardstock paper, trying to make it look like a man's handwriting. She cut the note to look like it came from a florist and stuck it in the flowers. It said, "Heidi, you look beautiful today!"

Lana had hidden the note from Lex in her pocket, deciding to read it later. It didn't matter what it said. The only thing Lana knew was that the flowers were from the wrong guy.

Telling Perry White that she had a possible lead on Superman, Lana left work by four. Clark was picking her up at seven, so if she was going to look anywhere near as beautiful as she wanted to look for him, she needed some serious time for primping.

However, she hadn't lied to White. Lana was first heading to the florist shop where Lois had received her flowers from Superman. Though the floral card and envelope didn't reveal the name, Lana had called around, and only one place had wildflowers—"Blossoms on Broadway." Certain Lois would be doing the exact same thing any time now, if she hadn't already, Lana knew she had to be quick.

Finding it difficult to put on her serious investigator's hat—since she'd been too distracted today to think of anything other than investigating Clark Kent a bit closer—Lana thought she'd draw on her emotions and pretend to be a scorned lover looking for evidence of betrayal.

Lana moped into the floral shop, sad-eyed and taking shallow breaths. She approached the middle-aged woman behind the counter. "Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help with a rather delicate situation?"

The woman, Betty, her nametag said, immediately picked up on Lana's gloomy disposition. "Sure, honey. What can I do for you?"

Lana sniffed, squaring her shoulders as though she was trying to draw courage. "My boyfriend might have sent another woman flowers. They came to my roommate, of all horrible possibilities, and I'm desperate to find out if it was him. I don't think he would've used his name when he sent the flowers—he probably paid with cash."

"He's after your roommate?" said Betty, looking stunned. "Goodness me, that's awful! What's this fellow look like? We'll catch that bugger if he's being any bit unfaithful to a pretty girl like you."

Lana gave a shy smile. "You're so kind, thank you," she said. "I don't have a picture with me, but he's about six-five, with really broad shoulders, and dark hair. And they were wildflowers."

"Wildflowers?" she asked, shaking her head with a dismal pout. "Were you the young lady who called a while ago and asked if we sold them?"

Lowering her eyes, Lana nodded.

"We rarely get orders for wildflowers, but today was one of those days," Betty said.

Lana threw her hands over her face. "Oh, I knew it. I just knew it!"

The woman put her hand on Lana's shoulder. "Honey, don't you cry now. It might not have been him. The fellow I helped with the wildflowers did pay with cash, and ordered ahead of time, but I'd say he was closer to six-three than six-five . . . and nice as can be, so let me just check with my delivery boy, who took the order, to see if he got a name."

Smiling under her hands, and wanting to do a happy dance, Lana nodded—then sniffed.

A minute or so later, a college-aged guy came out with a _Blossoms on Broadway_ delivery cap on. "Holy freak! Is the dude blind?" he asked Betty, while still staring in awe at Lana.

"Just tell her what you have, Mike," Betty said, motioning to the cell phone in his hand.

Mike blinked hard and gulped. "Well, you see, when Betty is on another call, the overflow calls ring to my cell while I'm out making deliveries. So, I took this guy's call about the wildflowers, told him we had them, then he said to get the order ready and he'd come in and pay cash. I wasn't here when he came, but his number is on my caller ID—and I'm sure it's his number here at 12:17, because I was eating at Subway when I took the call, and my lunch break is between 12 and 12:30."

He tipped the cell phone toward Lana so she could see the number. She was so excited her eyes were blurry, but she forced herself to focus—seeing only a number without a name. "Oh thank heaven! It's not him! Well, at least I don't think so. He didn't use his own phone if it was, but what if he used one of his friend's cells? Maybe I should get the number just in case."

"Yeah. Because you never know," said Mike, obviously trying to take advantage of the situation. "Guys can be sneaky. Well, not me, I'm not that sneaky. Really, I'm not."

Betty slapped his arm. "Just give her the number, Mike."

Lana gave Mike a sweet, 'nice try' smile. "Thanks so much. You've both been so kind." Lana scribbled down the number, and clenched the paper in her hand.

"Let us know what happens, darling," Betty said, as Lana headed for the exit.

"Yeah! Let us know!" Mike said, with hope resounding in his voice.

Walking as quickly as she could to where she had earlier seen a payphone, Lana could hardly catch her breath. She had Superman's number! She didn't know what she was going to say, but hoped she could think of something clever when the time came. 

Picking up the payphone receiver, Lana dialed the number she got from Mike's caller ID. It rang twice, then a deep voice answered. It didn't sound like Superman's particular voice, but perhaps he sounded different over the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, I just received a call from this number, but I'm not sure who you are," Lana said, certain the moment the words left her mouth that she'd blown it. She should've thought of a better plan!

"Lana?" answered the voice. "It's Clark. I don't think I called you—I was going to in a few minutes though."

Lana dropped the receiver and it banged against the metal frame of the payphone. She slowly gripped it, returning it to her ear.

"Are you okay?" Clark asked, his voice echoing through Lana's numb mind. "I have you on speed dial now, so I might have bumped my cell, and it called you. Sorry." There was a pause. "Are you calling from your hotel? My caller ID didn't pick up your number."

"Umm, actually, I'm calling from a payphone. My reception isn't very good in the city sometimes," she said, which was true. "We'll talk in a while then, see you at seven."

Before Clark could return the farewell, she hung the receiver back on the hook—keeping her hand there for several moments as she tried to process what had just happened.

"CLARK!" she said, her chest burning. 

Clark was the one who sent Lois the flowers—not Superman. Now Lois' reaction made sense when she hurried and hid the note—she was trying to keep the truth from Lana—that Clark was still crazy about her. Why else would he feel a need to apologize for taking Lana out the previous night?

Lana tried to remember what the note said. Something about being sorry for last night, and that it wasn't what she thought. What in the hell did Clark mean by that? That Mr. Olsen forced Clark to take Lana out, so Lois shouldn't worry—it wasn't a date! Or, even if he was talking about Lois misunderstanding why Lana was driving Clark's Envoy, why should Clark feel the need to explain that with a freaking bouquet of flowers?

Kicking the payphone pole, since she didn't have Clark there to kick, Lana told herself, _Stupid girl! You should've listened to Chloe. She was right—you shouldn't have gotten mixed up with a guy who had unresolved feelings for someone else._

And now, she felt even more ridiculous for leaving Chloe the syrupy voicemail she had earlier. Urg!

Lana found her way to the playground she and Clark had visited and swung endlessly, thinking about the guy who stole her heart away in just a few short hours. Why had she felt such a connection to him if things weren't meant to be? And why was she crying over someone who was never hers?

How could she have believed Clark was as interested in her as she was in him? Maybe he _was_ just like every other guy—only seeing what was on the outside of her—not into her soul as she felt Clark had.

Lana wiped her eyes, once again feeling alone in the world—not knowing if she had the strength to fight for the man she knew could fill that void.

**Chapter 10**

_Chloe Sullivan's Apartment, New York City _

Clark felt like flying. He wanted to bolt into the sky and feel the wind blasting against his face.

More to satisfy his need for speed, than to appease Chloe's demands, Clark went to New York City straight after work—again.

When he got to Chloe's door, he knocked. The door opened just a crack, then a piece of paper was passed through. He took it and read:

"Here are the items we need to discuss, so plan your answers wisely. I'm ticked.  
#1 - You're an idiot – I helped you keep your date with Lana, then you stood up Lois! Do you have any idea how guilty that makes me feel? Lois was bawling her eyes out. I want to strangle you, my dear socially-challenged friend.

#2 - Lionel Luthor died in a fire last night! Did you hear me, Clark? LIONEL LUTHOR DIED IN A FIRE LAST NIGHT! And how did I learn of this? Was it from the guy who's been after his butt with me for ten years? Nope. I read about it on the front page of my own freaking newspaper. And oh, what's more—Supes was there. Yep. He was the one who pulled Lionel's body from the fire. Gosh, that's kind of a big deal, flyboy! Thanks for the heads up.

#3 - Did you bump into some red-k again? Because you're sure acting like it. Only Kal would corner a girl in an elevator and get her all hot and bothered. Geez, Clark. You met the girl yesterday. Control yourself."

That's when Clark threw the door open to find a red-faced Chloe taking deep breaths as she tapped her foot—waiting for him.

"Okay, first things first," Clark said, looking back to her list of complaints. "I mean, last things first. What did Lana tell you about the elevator?"

"Clark! You've got to be kidding me!"

"No, I'm not," he said, tossing the paper into the air and relaxing on Chloe's couch. "I think I'm in love."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Oh please."

"Actually, I'm _sure_ I'm in love," Clark said with a sigh. Chloe threw a thick book right at his head—it was nice having an invincible friend. He didn't make a single motion to block it. "You can pound me as much as you want, I don't care."

Clark kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the full length of the couch, putting his hands behind his head.

"Get your stinky feet off my pillows," Chloe said, grabbing the pillows from under his feet.

"My feet don't even sweat, so how can they stink?"

Chloe gave up, sitting on the floor beside the couch. "Okay, let's get this over with. It's obvious your date with Lana went well last night, even though I know it didn't end the way Lois thought it did."

"Oh yeah? What makes you say that?" Clark asked with a smirk.

"Because Lana refused to go that far with a guy she dated for two years, so I know she's not the type to end up with someone else after just one night."

Clark sat straight. "Who? What was his name? How serious were they? Is it totally over? For how long? Do you think she still likes him?"

Chloe shook her head in disbelief. "Could you please submit your list of nosy questions in writing?" she asked. "And address them to Lana. It's not my place to tell you."

"Come on, Chlo," Clark said. "You know I won't dare ask her."

His pouty face always made Chloe crack. "His name is Jason—he's a business tycoon here in Manhattan. And yeah, they were pretty serious for a while, but as hard as Lana tried, she couldn't imagine spending her life with him. She knew she wasn't in love, and broke it off about two months ago."

Clark smiled, relaxing back on the couch. "Good. Because here's the amazing part—I think Lana likes me every bit as much as I like her. Crazy, huh? I mean, that's never happened to me."

"What are you talking about? You're always having to fend off women."

Propping up on his elbow, Clark said, "Yeah, but have I _ever_ been in an equal relationship? Where we both felt the same way? This is a first for me, Chloe." Clark knew he was walking on thin ice, since Chloe had at one time been one whose affection he didn't return with the same intensity. She'd been over it for long enough though, that he hoped she wouldn't take offence.

At first, Chloe didn't seem a bit bothered, but then her expression changed to one of concern. "Clark, I really think Lois is close to that—finally. And you're walking away from her. Are you sure that's what you want? What if things don't work out between you and Lana? You may come to regret the path you're taking."

This answer was a no-brainer. "You know my feelings for Lois started fading before Lana showed up. Think about it, Chloe. Lois likes a part of me that isn't genuine. How can I spend the rest of my life being someone I'm not? It's easy to pretend to be the guy she wants when I'm in the suit, but when I'm not—I'm far from what she's looking for. And truthfully, she isn't the woman I want anymore either. Things have changed."

"Obviously," Chloe said.

"Man, I can't even tell you how good Lana makes me feel," Clark said, running a hand through his hair. "When I'm with her, I can hardly catch my breath. When we were stuck in the elevator together today . . . " Clark glanced at Chloe, knowing there were 'boundaries' he had to stay in, " . . . well, let's just say, I was feeling very Kal-like as you suggested in your formal list of complaints. I couldn't help it though, she just . . . umm, does something to me."

"That's a great place to stop," Chloe said, holding up her hand. "But, Clark, that doesn't mean that you're falling in love. I hate to tell you this, but Lana has that effect on pretty much every guy who's ever looked at her."

"Well, duh," Clark said, sitting up and facing her. "But it's more than that, Chloe. Last night was so amazing. It's the best time I've ever had on a date. We never ran out of things to talk about—we're so much alike. And she laughs along with me—not _at_ me, like someone else I know. When we went to the playground, I had this feeling that . . . I know this will sound corny to you, but I felt like she was the part of me I've always been missing. After just one night, I never want to spend another minute without her. How can you explain something like that?"

Chloe's mouth was hanging half open. "Umm, I can't really. And it's kinda freaky to hear you talk like this. Especially since I think you're right, she feels the same way."

Bounding from the couch, Clark said, "You see, it's fate. We're meant to be together." Towering above Chloe, he added, "So, what did she tell you about the elevator?"

"Enough," Chloe said, holding out her hand so Clark could help her stand. "And she says you have another date tonight that she can't wait for."

Clark put a hand to his pounding chest. "Good, because I've been worried that I scared her today. I'm sure she knew exactly what I was thinking in the elevator. I knew it was too soon to kiss her, but dang, I _wanted_ to. I wanted to—"

"Okay, yeah . . . if you had that same look in your eyes that you do right now, I would've been scared, too," Chloe said, backing away.

Desperate to find an excuse for having acted so forward with Lana, Clark said, "Well, she called me Kal when I got into the elevator, all seductive like, so that didn't help."

"She WHAT?" Chloe coughed, like she was choking on a hairball. "H . . . how! How does she know that name? You've never even told Lois that."

"Well, gosh, Chloe," Clark said, sardonically. "I wonder if that has anything to do with knowing my real name would be published around the world by the next morning. Just like everything else I've ever told her in confidence. But don't worry, Lana calling me Kal has nothing to do with Supes. It's the only name I could think of when we invented nicknames for the jewelry store."

"Oh," Chloe said, her face regaining color. "And what was her nickname?"

"Isobel."

Chloe smiled, as if she knew who Isobel was. "My, my. Lana must've been feeling naughty."

Clark nodded. "Yeah, she said that. Well, not exactly that, but close enough." He raised his brows up and down. "See, I have the same effect on her as she has on me. Man, I love it!"

"And what do you think her reaction would be to Supes?" Chloe asked.

"Didn't she say anything about meeting him?"

Chloe shook her head. "How did you manage that?"

"After the fire—" Clark started, then told her everything that happened.

"Wow. I'm surprised she didn't say anything. I guess her mind was elsewhere when she left the message on my voicemail," Chloe said. Her face scrunched up. "Just like your mind was elsewhere when you stood up Lois."

Clark gave his best puppy dog face. "I sent her flowers from Supes."

"Not good enough."

"Why?"

"Because flowers in this situation just say, 'I'm a jerk—deal with it!'" Chloe said. "You need a face to face apology."

"Chloe, I can't right now. I don't know what to say to her," Clark said. "I'm tired of feeling guilty about _everything!_ I've felt guilty every single day since I knew where I came from, and how I got here. Every time I let someone down, I load another pile of Kryptonite onto my shoulders. And when Supes breaks up with Lois, that will just cram some more crap into my bulging backpack of guilt. So can I just have a few weeks of peace? I'll call and tell her that's what I need—a break until I figure things out."

"But you've already figured it out, Clark, so you shouldn't drag Lois on and on."

Clark returned to the couch, burying his head in his hands. "I just don't want to deal with it. Not when I'm so happy right now at the thought of a relationship with Lana."

Chloe sat beside Clark. "I have to admit that it's good to see you smile so often in such a short time period. I've hated watching you go through all this, Clark. You deserve to be happy."

"And now Lex is blaming Supes for Lionel's death—oh crap!" Clark said, snapping his head up to look at Chloe. "I need to call Police Chief Wilson. Lionel and his men need autopsies!"

"Autopsies? Why?" Chloe asked. "They were in a fire, Clark. That's a pretty clear cause of death."

Clark shook his head. "I'm positive they were dead before the fire started."

"No way!" Chloe said, then gasped. "I should've thought of it, but the fire chief said the fire was started by the dryer in the penthouse below Lionel's."

"I don't doubt that, but how did the guy who lived in the place where the fire started survive, but the four men above him didn't?" Clark said. "Especially since I pulled Lionel and his men out before him."

"Wow. Who did it, I wonder?" Chloe said, adding a wicked smile. "Not that I blame them. Lionel had more enemies than either of us could keep up with, so the sky's the limit."

"True. That's why Supes needs to talk to Chief Wilson. I've got to make sure those bodies get an autopsy before the mastermind behind the murders destroys the evidence."

Chloe nodded. "Which was obviously the reason for the fire. If it wasn't for Supes, there wouldn't be anything left to examine."

There was a deep pain in Clark's chest. "Chloe, even if someone wanted to get rid of Lionel, they obviously didn't care who else they took with them. It makes me sick to think of everyone who's been put in harm's way because of the Luthors. When will it ever stop?"

"I don't know, Clark," Chloe said. "But I think you're the only hope we have. And that's a lot of pressure for you to deal with."

"Yeah," Clark said, taking a long breath and releasing it just as slowly.

Chloe bumped him with her shoulder. "So, I think you should take care of _yourself_ first—which means giving it a shot with Lana."

He smiled, taking out his cell. "I intend to. Now, excuse me why I get my mojo on."

Chloe stood. "Did I just get kicked off my own couch?" She walked to the kitchen, only ten steps away since the apartment was so small.

"I just need to call and tell Lana to wear something casual."

"Oh? What do you have planned?" Chloe asked, taking a plate of leftovers from the fridge.

"I'm taking her flying." Chloe dropped the plate—but Clark super-sped over just in time, catching it a mere inch from the floor. "Just kidding."

"Damn it, Clark! Don't do that to me!" she said, laughing. "With the way you're acting, I thought you were serious."

Clark shrugged. "Maybe I am. A part of me wants to tell her, just to get it over with."

"But then you'll miss out on the chance to know if she truly falls in love with you—just for you," Chloe said.

"Yeah. Which is obviously a big deal," Clark said, still holding the cell in his hand. It felt heavy for some reason, just like everything did whenever he thought of someone learning his secret. "It's funny, but last night when I was Supes, I half-expected her to recognize me."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Clark, as much as we'd like to believe that love-at-first-site actually exists, it doesn't. And thank heaven, because what would love mean if it happened so easily?" she said, making him relax and smile. "It takes time, and little by little, I bet Lana will start to see what others have missed."

"I sure hope so."

Standing on tiptoes, Chloe messed up Clark's hair. "But let's face it, you're not the easiest guy to love. However, if anyone can manage you, it's Lana."

"I feel like the luckiest guy in the world to even have a chance with her," he said, a familiar warmth pouring through him. "I may not be human, but she makes me feel 100-percent like a _man_."

"Cool down there, hot stuff," Chloe said. "If you want a solid foundation with her, you've got to build it one stone at a time."

Clark groaned. "I know, I know," he said, scrolling down to Lana's number on his phone. It rang several times, making Clark's stomach suddenly twist.

"Hi, Clark," Lana said.

Her voice put an instant grin on his face. "Hiiiiiiii," he said breathlessly, making Chloe snicker. "I had such a great time with you at the playground last night, I thought we could go back—so maybe you'll want to wear something casual." There was silence. "Umm, or we can do something else, if you want."

Chloe gave Clark a sideways glance of worry, biting her lip.

Finally, Lana spoke up. "Clark, I don't know how to explain this, but can we change our date tonight, to lunch tomorrow?"

Clark's shoulders fell—along with his face muscles. "Lunch? Oh, okay. Is everything alright?" He walked away from Chloe, suddenly sick.

"Well, I was just thinking, you know—"

"That we're moving too fast?" Clark asked. "Lana, I'm embarrassed about being so forward with you today, but it doesn't mean I wasn't sincere in what I said—because I am. I want to get to know you better. A lot better."

There was another pause, then it sounded like Lana sighed. "Clark, I also meant what I said. Every word. And you don't need to be embarrassed, I've loved every moment I've been with you. Please remember that."

Clark's legs gave out and he collapsed to the couch. Dang, she was so beautiful—even over the phone. He could see her so clearly when he closed his eyes, feeling her warmth radiate around him. "Of course I'll remember that, how couldn't I?" She was quiet again. "Lana, this is really foolish of me to tell you right now, but I haven't stopped thinking about you since we met on the rooftop."

Lana gave a soft, sweet laugh. "Clark, that's actually the best thing you could've told me right now. But I still think lunch is a better opportunity for us to get to know one another."

"I understand what you're saying," Clark told her. "You're probably right." With a lunch date, there was less of a chance of them moving too fast physically—which seemed inevitable if they spent one more minute under the glow of the moon.

"Good, I'll see you tomorrow then," Lana said. "And I want to make something clear—I'm not canceling our date, just rearranging the time."

"Sounds great," Clark said, then felt a need to ask once more, "Are you sure everything's okay?"

"I have a good feeling that it will be," Lana said, sounding much more relaxed than when they started the conversation.

They said goodbye, then a few moments later, Chloe sat next to Clark on the couch.

"Something spooked her, and I don't think it was me," Clark said, his mind racing through possibilities. With how positive Lana's voice was, he wasn't feeling depressed, just extremely curious.

"Did she drop any clues?" Chloe asked.

"Not really, but she went to lunch with Lois. That's a big enough clue for me."

Chloe tilted her head. "I'd say 'bingo,' but Lana left her perky message about you _after_ her lunch with Lois. So that's probably not it."

"Dang," Clark said, standing. "Well, if _I_ can't see her tonight, maybe Superman can."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 11 **

_- Lois Lane's Apartment – Uptown Metropolis -_

Lois Lane was a simple girl—well, not really.

So what if she dreamed of Pulitzers and best-selling tell-all books? Were those such horrible goals for an army brat who grew up thinking affection was best expressed with a hand-salute? Even her mother had been rough around the edges—a chain smoker with a knack for gossip. Lois' mother was so good at spreading rumors, that by the time the lie got back to the woman being disparaged, the woman even believed it herself. Why? Because Mrs. Lane had said it, and that was the end of the story.

Lois sighed, thinking of her mother, as she sat on her couch sipping green tea. She knew her mother would be proud of her, for many things, really, but mostly for redefining the fine art of gossip—even glamorizing it, as a respected reporter.

And Lois had also become a rather fine actress, when she needed to be.

It wasn't that she didn't have feelings for Supes, because she did—he made her feel important and appreciated by others. And he was a great kisser. Well, not the _best_—as his so-called upstanding values made him an absolute prude, but Lois was sure she'd eventually get him to cave.

That was until last night, when he didn't show. The jerk.

She wondered if the snub was coming. He'd been distant for over a month now. She'd practically had to attack him to get so much as a good night kiss—but they were getting less and less passionate, almost cold, with an edge of resentment.

But no worries, after her excellent performance today—weeping like a teen-queen dumped at the prom, Supes was sure to be back on bended knee.

Sending the flowers proved he already regretted it, but Lois didn't want anyone besides Chloe to know what happened. Certainly not the perfect Lana Lang, who Lois was sure never got stood up, which is why Lois had hid the floral card from her.

But there was a reason Lois had gone to Chloe with the _devastating_ news.

Somehow, Supes always knew what Lois was up to—which she'd often used to her advantage. Lois hadn't discovered _everyone_ who Supes used as contacts to the real world, but she was absolutely certain of two of them—Chloe Sullivan and Clark Kent. They were the two people who were closest to Lois, and Supes was smart enough to go straight to them when he needed information.

Chloe liked to pretend she hardly knew Supes, but it was a total charade. She was _way_ too nosy about how Lois felt about him to not be gathering information and passing it back to Supes. And poor Chloe, Lois had been forced to use her on more than one occasion to get Supes to do what she wanted, and it always worked—just like it had today. Lois adored Chloe, so that part was never an act. She adored Supes as well—the do-gooder with the hottest buns of steel around. But, when it came down to it, Lois had to do what was best for Lois. That was the only way to survive in a business full of sharks—all with killer instincts.

She'd never intentionally hurt one of her friends though—Supes, Chloe, and Clark, being at the top of her list, and hoped it never came down to making such a choice.

As for Clark Kent—how that farm boy ever managed to get himself wrapped around Supes' finger, she'd never know. But Supes was _always_ defending him. Whenever Lois would complain about Clark sneaking around her to get a scoop she was after, Supes would say something stupid like, "Isn't that what a good journalist does? You do the same thing to him all the time, don't you?"

Oh please, like Lois needed lessons on moralistic behavior. She was getting them on a daily basis lately—Supes just never stopped. All Lois could ever do was smile and say, "You're right. What would I do without you?"

_Bleck._

Supes should know that Lois would never do anything illegal—well, at least nothing that could get her prison time. Once in a while, she snuck into a secured building or private home, but it wasn't like she was stealing or hurting anybody—no one who didn't deserve it, anyway.

But Supes wanted her to be super-human like he was. He expected too much of her. Lois was comfortable with who she was—she was happy with where her life and career were going. And yes, she had Superman to thank for a lot of that, but he also had Lois to thank for making him such a superstar.

He'd used her every bit as much as she had used him.

The fact that emotions had become involved was just an unfortunate side-effect. Supes was hot—smokin' hot. He was also confident and clever, and most of all, he was a true hero in all imaginable ways. Once in a while, Lois admitted to herself that she truly felt something for him, and had even given into it at times. But when she really thought things through, she knew she could never settle down with him—or maybe with anyone. She was too much of a free spirit—which was what allowed her to keep her own little secrets nicely tucked away.

Oh yes, just like Supes, Lois had her very own secrets—her darkest one being her favorite guilty pleasure—Travis.

Travis lived across the hall from Lois. Oh, she'd tried to give him up, but it never lasted long. He was the reason she'd moved to this building, so they could carry on with their fun—non-committal—relationship without being judged by anyone else, and especially not discovered by Superman. Travis was a big guy, but he wasn't stupid enough to get into a jealous brawl with a guy who could rearrange his body parts with one swipe. And Lois definitely liked Travis' body parts just the way they were, so he had to remain her little secret. Not even Chloe—ace reporter—had a clue about him.

Thank heaven that Lois' former roommate never grew suspicious of her late-night jogs, when in truth, Lois had only gone across the hall. And Supes? Forget it—he was as clueless as Clark Kent when it came to interpreting a woman's needs. Now, if Supes would use his super-powers and truly make her _fly_, like Travis did, then things could be different.

And Clark? His obvious affection for Lois was just plain sad. _As if._

She was almost relieved that Clark was so ga-ga over this Lana chick. But not entirely, because what woman doesn't like to be pined over? Clark was terrific entertainment for Lois, and a good friend, she had to admit. But boyfriend material? Paahhhleeese.

Chloe just about drew blood every time Lois made fun of her for once having a crush on Clark, but the fact was, Clark was just a dyed-in-the-wool simpleton, who strangely ended up with the body of a Greek god. Now, Lois certainly had an appreciation for beauty, but it was Clark's small-town mentality that made her skin crawl. Gosh, the most exciting thing the guy ever did in his life was help out at a barn raising. Yee-haw!

At least Chloe had convinced Clark to burn most of his flannel. The dude might even get some action if he'd forget to shave once in a while, so he didn't look so much like a poster child for the Boy Scouts. Lois was sure he was straight-out lying to her about kissing a girl the night before Lana started working at the Planet. It was probably some sort of test to see if Lois would get jealous and give him the attention he was after.

She felt bad for Clark. Really, she did. He was such a nice guy, he just needed a good little country girl who knew how to handle a pitchfork. Clark may be making his way in the city now, but his roots would call him back to _Slowville_ soon enough. Lois was sure of it.

Just as Lois was finishing her tea, she heard a tapping on the glass balcony door. Her heart fluttered, thrilled that her plan had worked—Supes was there.

She quickly patted her eyes, knowing he could see her through the thin lace curtains, then stood and walked to the door. Lois could play the moment one of two ways—the ticked-off girlfriend, demanding an apology, or the forlorn lovebird, aching for affection. He'd fall for either option, but he was such a sucker for tears.

"Hi, Lois," Supes said, when she parted the door a few inches. "Do you have a minute to talk."

Lois paused, taking a deep breath. "I guess," she said, in barely a whisper.

She showed him in and he paced for a few moments before facing her. "I'm sorry about last night. I honestly didn't mean to stand you up."

Folding her arms, not in a defensive way—but as if she were hugging herself, Lois said, "What happened?"

Supes gazed up at the ceiling, then dropped his eyes to again meet hers. "If you want to know the truth—I forgot."

"You what?" Lois asked, stunned. How could he forget about _her_?

"Yeah. But there are more important things we need to talk about."

Lois was reeling inside, but trying to calm herself so she could play on his emotions. "What's that?"

Speaking quickly, Supes said, "Lois, we can't see each other anymore—not dating wise, anyway. I've been trying to fight this for a while now, but it's just not working. I want to stay friends, but that's it."

Okay, that was not at all what Lois was expecting to come from Supes' mouth—ever! Yes, he'd been growing more distant, but he was _not_ breaking up with her for real, was he?

Lois threw her hands over her face, whispering every curse word she knew—and she knew a lot of them. "I can't look at you right now. How could you do this? You know how I feel about you."

Supes moaned, and Lois thought the guilt had to be getting to him. "Lois, that's just it. I've _never_ known how you feel. You usually seem sincere, then other times, act like I'm nothing more than a school science project. Something that might get you an award if you work hard enough on it."

"What are you talking about?" Lois said, trying not to sound snippy. She also wanted to ask how he knew about school science projects—another clue that he was actually raised on this planet, at least for a time, though he'd never admitted that to her. Lois had something even more important she knew she had to say, however. Something she'd been reserving for a desperate time such as this. And she hated to do it, since it was completely unfair to him. "Supes, I . . . I love you." She sniffed.

Superman just stared at her, then squinted. "No you don't, Lois." He had said it softly, and without any guile, but it hit Lois right in the chest.

"Umm, didn't you hear me?" Lois asked, shaking her head to clear it of fog. "I said that I _love_ you, Supes." Such words had _never_ escaped her lips, how dare he throw them away like that?

Supes started pacing again, with his hands clasped behind his head. "It's time I tell you something, Lois. And for once, it doesn't matter that you know it. If it's passed to anyone else, however, I'll consider this your most serious betrayal of trust."

She swallowed.

He stopped pacing and faced her. "Over the past two years you've done everything you can to discover my true identity—the guy I hide out as during the day. But here's the kicker—that guy is the _real_ me—the same guy I've been all my life. Superman is only a cover so I can use my gifts to help people without being thought of as a freak."

"Okay." Where was he going with this?

"When I took on the Superman disguise, it didn't just include the costume," he said. "I _look_ differently, I _sound_ differently, and I _act_ differently as my true self. You wouldn't recognize me as Supes if you were staring straight into my face. Unless—"

"Unless _what_!" Lois asked, not meaning to sound so anxious.

"Unless you were truly _in love_ with me."

"Shut up," she said in awe, nearly laughing. "You're joking, right?"

"Nope. It's part of the package. There's nothing I can do to prevent someone who loves me—either one of my identities—from seeing through the disguise."

Lois barely made it to the couch to sit without falling. "Well, maybe it doesn't work on everyone. I mean, I _do_ love you. But maybe there's a different definition of love where you come from—wherever that is."

"No, love is universal. I know that because I remember the feeling I got as a child when my biological mother looked at me," he said, soft and reflective. "It's the exact same feeling I have when someone on Earth truly cares for me."

Now what could Lois say to that? Being the expert talker she was, she actually thought of something that might work. "Well, maybe I'm not _completely_ in love with you yet, but I'm getting there. I've stopped asking you so many nosy questions, haven't I? That should prove that I'm more interested in _you_ than your origin and identity, right?"

"I'm not so sure about that. The fact that you've eased up on your questions has only made me wonder if you're focusing more on that all-important chapter in your book—you know, the only chapter that has a title and nothing else."

Lois felt like someone had made her swallow a shovel full of burning hot coals. _How the hell does he know about my book?_

"Chapter?" Lois said, squeaking it out, even though she knew exactly what chapter Supes was talking about. "Book?"

She couldn't tell if his smile was friendly—like he was joking, or just plain menacing. "I mean, it definitely has a catchy title—_Superman in the Sack_. I have to give you credit for that. It's sure to be the most well-read chapter in the book, claiming to 'Tell All!' What woman wouldn't want to know if my superpowers were good for more than just tossing criminals around? That part alone should make you millions."

"Supes, I didn't, I mean, I wouldn't do that," Lois said, shaking her head—barely able to speak. "It was kind of just a joke—with myself, really. I thought of the title one night and couldn't stop laughing. But that's as far as I was planning to take it."

That was almost the truth—Travis was the one who thought of the title—not her, and it was just an inside joke between the two of them. But Lois felt sick, physically sick, knowing that Supes had discovered she was writing a tell-all book about him. And that chapter—it wasn't _really_ going to be included. Not even if she had actual words to put into it.

Superman walked toward the patio door, and Lois was sure it was the last time she would see his broad silhouette against the moonlight coming through her curtains. That's when the _real_ tears started to burn her eyes. She jumped up from the couch and ran over to him. "I'm so sorry, I really am," she said, latching onto his arm. "You can walk away from all this, but first I want you to witness me erasing that book off my laptop—all one-hundred thousand words of it. Or you can read it first, I don't care. Nothing I've said makes you look anything but as wonderful as you are. I swear!"

He looked down at her with hurt eyes. "Lois, it doesn't matter what the book says, it's the message my _friend_ gave me when she betrayed my trust and wrote it."

Lois was bawling for real now, regretting everything she'd done. She'd been so calculating about the book, thinking she'd eventually tell Supes about it—long before it was published. But she also knew how she'd dreamed of fame from exposing his identity and origin. She was as guilty as sin, and it was now too late to come clean. There was still one thing left though, that she could reveal—hopefully proving that she wasn't an entirely worthless friend.

Just as Superman was turning to leave, Lois threw out her desperate plea for redemption. "Lex Luthor has offered me one million dollars to find out who you are, Supes. And he's doubled the offer if I can find out if you have a weakness—anything at all that takes your powers away. You need to be careful—he's out to get you."

Supes froze, but didn't look at her. "When did this happen?"

"About a month ago—which is why I stopped asking questions. I was afraid he was spying on us," Lois said, being absolutely honest. "I told him to go to hell. And I'm sorry I didn't warn you earlier."

Superman's face softened. "I'm not the one who needs to be careful, Lois. Lex won't back off just because you refused to help him. You need to tell me if he contacts you again, in any manner at all. I've seen what he can do—he doesn't take no for an answer. This is just one more reason why you and I need to part ways."

"Supes," Lois said with sincerity. "Please forgive me."

He gave a half-smile. "I already have. But I need to move on, Lois."

She nodded, trying to clear the knot in her throat. "I don't blame you." Giving a sharp shake of her head, she continued, "Let me get my laptop—that book will be gone forever."

Superman opened the patio door. "I trust you to delete it yourself," he said, taking two short steps, then blasting into the sky.

Lois went straight to her laptop, opened the book file, and deleted it before she had a chance to rethink things. She didn't want her ego catching up with her conscience—begging her to continue chasing the fame it craved. She emptied the recycle bin on the desktop, then picked up the phone and dialed a number.

"Travis, I need that back-up disk I gave you a few months ago," she said, all business like. "I need to destroy it."

**Chapter 12 **

_- The Grand Metropolis Hotel -_

Superman left Lois' apartment with a variety of feelings. None of them being _regret_. He had suspected for a while now that Lois was writing more than just one-shot articles about him, but tonight, when Supes had arrived at her apartment, he had seen Lois sitting on her couch with her laptop, typing away as carefree as usual. That didn't match the distraught Lois he expected to find, so he watched for a while—through the brick wall behind her as she continued writing.

He had planned to gauge her mood before he knocked anyway, not certain if he should cut her loose that night, or give her some time to regain a bit of strength. But the moment he saw her scrolling through the index page of her manuscript, Superman had his answer—he was sure she hadn't shed a single sincere tear.

True to Lois' potty mouth humor, the first chapter was titled: _Supes Poops . . . A Lesson in Alien Physiology_. It was sure to get a laugh, here and there, and Superman would've found it amusing himself, had he not been the target of humiliation. Yeah, he got it—Lois was just making a point that Superman was as biologically normal as a typical human, but then she went as far as to outright call him an _alien_. Not cool.

And of course there was the least amusing title of all that he had called her out on—_Supes in the Sack._ When he had seen that heading, he super-sped into her apartment to read the chapter. Of course, Lois was completely unaware. The page under the scandalous title was blank—just as it should've been. She would've had to straight out lie, which both Superman and Clark knew wasn't beyond her.

When Mr. Olsen had sent Clark to the opera, he didn't want to go alone, so he gathered his courage and asked Lois to join him. She gave a look of pity and said, "I'm so sorry, Clark. But I have big plans tonight—with Supes."

_Uhh, Lois, the next time you lie to a guy, you better make sure the fib doesn't involve his alter-ego._

That's when things started really going downhill in the romantic interest department. The lie had rolled off her tongue so easily, that Clark had to wonder how many times he'd been fooled by her before.

After he had read all he could stand of Lois' book, zipping in and out of the apartment to allow himself enough time, Supes went back outside and waited on the balcony until he calmed down. Meanwhile, Lois packed up her laptop, made herself some tea, and sat peacefully on the couch.

As he soared through the night air after leaving her place, Superman would've been experiencing complete relief and elation from breaking it off, if it weren't for the curveball Lois threw him at the end. Lex always had a way of messing with his life—well, at least Clark Kent's. Up until now, Supes had kept a close eye on Lex, but hadn't considered him nearly the threat that his father was.

Even after all Lex and Clark had been through, their friendship was still intact—by the grace of a Kryptonian miracle. After Jonathan died from a poor choice Clark made to disobey, Clark became more bitter than ever about his destiny. As a type of peace treaty, Jor-El offered a crystal—only one—to allow Clark to undo some of the damage he felt he had caused in the lives of those he loved. Though he couldn't bring his father back, Clark knew where he could do the most good for his mother and friends—protect them from Lex Luthor.

Lex's quest to learn Clark's secret in Smallville had nearly driven him to madness. All who were close to Clark were under constant threat. Clark was sure that if he took away the particular memories Lex had of Clark, which had caused him to be suspicious, that all would be resolved.

And he was right—for a time.

Lex had returned to the thoughtful best friend Clark had once been so close to—remembering only the moments of normalcy and brotherhood. Lionel's suspicions of Clark were removed from his mind when Jor-El inhabited Lionel's body for a time, to assist Clark, then left a short while later—taking all things related to Krypton with him. Therefore, by the end of Clark's first year at Central Kansas, neither Luthor had any reason to think of Clark as anything but a good, homespun, farm boy.

To keep things that way, Clark transferred to Met U his sophomore year. It was true that the Luthors spent just as much time in Metropolis as they did in Smallville, but Smallville was such a tiny community that Clark had a much higher possibility of getting tangled up with them there. And until he became Superman, he hadn't had another moment's trouble with the dastardly duo.

As Supes began patrolling the skies and streets of Metropolis—about two years ago—more and more often he discovered Lionel Luthor to be at the heart of a myriad of both corporate and violent crimes. So Superman took him on. By the time Lionel died in the fire, Supes had been responsible for getting Lionel arrested on five occasions, but thanks to Lionel's attorney team, all charges were still pending—tied up in courts on technicalities. Though Lionel most likely died a horrible death, justice had yet to catch up to him.

Superman tried to shake off his heavy burdens as The Grand Metropolis Hotel came into view. His mind was easily cleared of all thoughts of Lois and the Luthors when he envisioned the beautiful Lana Lang.

He wasn't sure what he'd say to her, as Superman, or what excuse he'd use for dropping by to visit—all he knew was that he had to see her. His biggest challenge would be keeping his hands to himself and watching what he said. He certainly didn't want Lana thinking Superman was trying to pick up on the woman that one of his _friends_—Clark Kent—was obviously interested in.

There was somewhat of a problem though. He couldn't call Lana's cell to announce himself, since Superman wasn't supposed to have her cell number, and he also didn't have a clue about what room she was staying in. So unless he was going to be a real scumbag and x-ray scan all five hundred rooms of the hotel, he only had one option.

Superman casually touched down at the hotel entrance, greeted the stunned bellmen and valets, then walked straight through the lobby—turning heads from all directions. He approached the registration area and stood behind a line of guests, who were waiting to check in. It was only polite to wait his turn, but the moment he was noticed, the line parted like the red sea—a screaming woman having started the scatter.

"It's alright, everyone. I'm not here on official business. Don't worry," Superman said, noticing how people where spinning around, looking for the problem the hero must've been there to fix.

"May I help you, then?" asked a gentleman behind the long registration counter. "Mr. umm, Superman."

Supes looked around, as the scene was suddenly as quiet as Easter Mass. He leaned closer and whispered. "Yes, could you please ring Lana Lang's room and let her know she has a visitor?"

**Chapter 13 **

_- The Grand Metropolis Hotel -_

Lana had just finished with a warm bubble bath when her hotel room phone rang. It was 9:30. Who would be calling at this hour? All her friends had her cell number. She answered the phone with curiosity in her voice, then heard a man clear his throat.

"Yes, Miss Lang," he said. "You have a gentleman here to see you. Would you like me to send him up?"

"No," was Lana's instant reply, wrapping her robe a bit tighter. "Not at the moment, I mean. Would you please ask his name?"

There was a long pause. "No need, miss. He's wearing quite a large nametag, in the shape of an 'S.'"

"Oh! Well, umm," Lana said, flittering aimlessly around her room, with no purpose whatsoever. She didn't know what to do—she couldn't invite him up, it wasn't appropriate. And, what would Clark think! Or Lois! "Could you have him wait in the lobby? I'll be down in a few minutes."

_More like twenty minutes_, Lana thought to herself, staring with horror into the bathroom mirror and finding her hair on top of her head in a messy knot, and her face colorless.

The man on the phone agreed to have Superman wait, and Lana went to work—faster than the Tasmanian Devil. After only a few moments, however, she thought of poor Supes waiting around in the busy lobby. That had to be uncomfortable, unless he enjoyed the attention, which was certainly possible. Nevertheless, she hurried as fast as she could, then threw on her black velour jogging suit.

After all, why would she need to look her best for Superman? In fact, it was better that she didn't.

Just as she was ready to slip on some shoes, the thought occurred to her . . . _Why in the world is he here?_ The blaring question made her skittish. She certainly hadn't intended to give him any ideas last night—that she was interested in him. And wasn't it obvious, since she was driving Clark's Envoy, that her attention was focused elsewhere?

And, whoa, news of this would _really_ upset Lois—no matter what reason Superman had for coming around. Lana would be out of a place to live for sure, and she couldn't afford to continued paying $200 a night for this hotel room.

Instead of leaving right then, Lana returned to the phone and rang the front desk. "This is Lana Lang, could you please ask the gentleman in red and blue to meet me on the roof? And as a courtesy to your honored guest, would you mind having someone ensure the roof is available only to us?"

Lana had checked out the view from the patio on the roof the first night she arrived and knew the privacy would be perfect.

"Of course, Miss Lang," answered the man. "Wise choice indeed."

Feeling somewhat better that others wouldn't see them together, Lana tucked her room card into her back pocket and headed toward the elevator. She wouldn't be doing this if she hadn't been assigned to investigate Superman. She was determined to disprove Perry White's hair-brained accusation. However, her own curiosity about the caped crusader was tugging on her just as much as duty.

After all, this was only the _second_ superhero she'd had an opportunity to associate with. Lana couldn't let Superman know about the other one though—she'd sworn herself to silence regarding her interesting friendship with Spider-Man. Chloe knew, but only because the two of them were together when they discovered their favorite pizza delivery boy to have a few hidden talents.

Lana called for the elevator, half-expecting a tall, dark and delicious Clark Kent to be in it when the doors opened. But, no such luck.

The elevator was empty when it arrived, but that didn't stop Lana from closing her eyes and reliving every moment of bliss from earlier in the day.

As the floors increased in number, thoughts of Lois receiving flowers from Clark took over. Her stomach twisted in knots. Several scenarios had gone through her mind since she'd made her discovery—perhaps Clark had ordered the flowers for Superman, as a favor so he wouldn't need to go out in the daylight hours and cause a stir. Or, being the type of guy Clark seemed to be, perhaps Clark felt so bad for Lois that he sent the flowers himself, but was planning on Lois thinking they were an apology from Superman.

But Lana had to admit that the simplest, most plausible explanation, was that the flowers were indeed sent from Clark, as a way of telling Lois that he and Lana had not had as intimate a night as Lois supposed. Why he felt such an obligation to Lois, when as far as Lana knew their relationship had never progressed beyond friendship, she wasn't sure. And there was a serious hang-up in trying to discover the truth about the flowers—Lana couldn't ask Clark if he had sent them, because that would paint her as a possessive and jealous freak, who was tracking his every move after knowing him for a mere two days.

She couldn't ask Chloe, because whether Clark had sent the either flowers from himself _or_ Superman, Lana still looked bad for going to the effort of finding out who the bouquet was from. Why would that be any of her business? She couldn't tell Chloe, or anyone else, that Perry White had assigned her to investigate Supes. Lois, for one, would freak! And Lana knew Chloe well enough to understand that her loyalty would have to be to Lois. Blood is thicker than water.

And as far as Lana asking the big man himself? Forget it—that could cause the most intense mess of all. If Clark had sent the flowers _for_ Superman, whether Supes requested the gesture or not, Lana was still obviously sticking her nose somewhere that it didn't belong, and she would lose the chance to get to know either Clark or Superman. And even worse, if Clark had sent the flowers as an apology from a swooning, though scorned, lover—where would that put him with his good buddy Superman? That would definitely make Clark look bad—swooping in like a hawk to prey upon the weak—stood-up, teary-eyed—Lois Lane who Superman had forgotten about.

Nope, there wasn't a single respectable way for Lana to discover Clark's intention with the flowers.

However, after sulking in the park for over two hours that evening, Lana had made an important discovery about herself—she wasn't a chicken. And she certainly wasn't about to let Lois Lane, the broad who had slammed Clark like a pro-wrestler during their lunch discussion, intimidate her out of getting to know a guy who seemed well worth her time.

Yes, Lana had entered Clark's life at an awkward moment—when he was still struggling with his feeling for another woman. But did that mean Lana didn't have a chance with him? No way. When Lana ignored her own insecurities, she felt that with a bit of time, and getting to know one another as close friends, that Clark would see just how good he and Lana could be together. Lana _already_ knew that.

If she and Clark continued to put themselves in intimate situations, however, where their obvious physical attraction seemed to be both a blessing and a curse, Lana was afraid that the relationship would be built on shaky ground. She might even end up as nothing more than a rebound relationship for Clark, and the thought made her sick.

There was something about him that stirred up so many parts of Lana's soul, that she would be as patient as she had to be, getting to know him more in casual circumstances, like work and lunch dates, so all could happen at a more stable pace.

Lana's reaction to Clark was a little frightening. Yes, he made her body burn with passion, which was scary all by itself. But the thing that truly put her heart in her throat was Clark's unassuming nature, and endearing—tremendously entertaining—personality. Lana felt like she could fall in love with a guy like him—_really_ in love. What could be more frightening than that? It was like skydiving without any sort of training—only knowing that at _some point_ a parachute would most likely open if you pulled on the ripcord. But did a parachute always guarantee a soft landing?

They say love is blind, so Lana was going into this with her eyes as wide as possible, determined to keep her relationship with Clark set at the right pace. She wanted it to last, maybe even forever.

When the elevator doors opened, Lana had an enormous smile on her face—imagining the possibility of a future with Clark.

"It's good to know you're happy to see me," Superman said, smiling back at Lana. "I wasn't sure what your reaction would be."

Lana's expression immediately lost its life. The smile hadn't been for Supes, and she didn't want to give that impression.

Her eyes dropped to his big red boots. My gosh, they were _huge_! Did his feet really take up all that room, or did he have steel plates in the boots so he could do all his _super stuff?_

"I was just wondering about your costume," Lana said, now looking into his brilliantly blue eyes. They weren't as gorgeous and soothing as Clark's green eyes, but they were stunning all the same. Lana gave Superman's foot a blunt tap with her own shoe. "Is it armor-plated on the inside, stuffed with padding, or what? How do you keep from being hurt?"

Supes gave her a crooked, almost disappointed, grin. "Down to business already, huh?"

Lana shook her head. "No, no. Sorry," she said, feeling stupid for scaring him off so quickly. _Duh, Lana, use your brain!_ "I was just curious about the most _obvious_ difference between you and all the other guys I know."

Superman laughed. "What? Don't tell me I'm your first friend to wear tights and a cape. You must've really been sheltered as a child."

Being put at ease with his casual manner, Lana said, "Well, if you go back _that_ far, then yes, I have had a couple of friends who wore capes at Halloween—as vampires or whoever. And I used to wear tights for ballet. Does that count?"

"Were they blue?"

"Pink."

Supes put his hands on his hips, shaking his head with seriousness. "Then no. Pink doesn't count. The color looks awful on me."

Lana burst into laughter, throwing her hand over her mouth. "I doubt a tutu would do much for you either!"

He gulped, then laughed as well. "And it might really slow me down when I'm flying."

"Yeah, with wind resistance and all," Lana said. "Maybe you should stick with the cape."

"Okay, you talked me into it," Superman said, giving her a nod of appreciation. "Besides, the Swan Lake look might make people think I was going through an identity crisis. And I already have _two_ identities to deal with. I'd hate to juggle another one."

Lana's giggling mellowed. "That must me hard," she said, thinking of it for the first time. "Do you ever wish you could just be one or the other?"

Supes didn't even hesitate. "Everyday. But there came a point where I had to either use my gifts incognito, or I couldn't use them at all."

Impressed with his answer, Lana asked, "Why do you do it? It seems like an awful lot of pressure to put on yourself—you know—to be the Protector of the Planet, as you've been christened by your fans."

"I do it for peace of mind, I guess," Superman said, shrugging. "Day after day, I used to read the papers or watch the news and feel sick because I knew I could've helped out in a tragedy—maybe even saved a life. I couldn't live with myself any longer, sitting on my butt and watching television at night while people all around me were in so much trouble."

"Wow," was all Lana could get out.

Supes smiled. There was _that smile_ again! The same one that seemed so strangely close to Clark's.

"Oh, don't be _that_ impressed," Superman said. "Some people think I'm a coward for hiding behind my costume. They say if I'd just reveal my true identity, I could be on duty twenty-four seven."

"No, I don't think you should ever do that," Lana said, receiving a look of shock from Supes.

"Why not?"

This wasn't the first time Lana had thought about the benefit of secret identities. "For one thing, you'd be exhausted—people would take advantage of you, expecting Superman to take care of _all_ their problems. To find their lost dog, or remove a bothersome tree from their yard. Soon, you wouldn't have time for true crime-fighting and life-saving. And that's the real reason we need you, so it benefits everybody much more if you lead two separate lives."

Supes had his mouth parted and eyes in a squint. "Are you for real?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, taken back by his disbelieving expression.

"Well, I'm shocked that you've even thought of that," he said, taking a step closer. "After all, you're a reporter. You could write the story of your career if you discovered who I am."

"And then what? You'd probably be forced to abandon Metropolis, leaving us with a major sweep of crime because the _tough guy_ isn't around to enforce the law anymore," Lana said, surprising herself with an entire list of reasons she could name for Supes staying undercover. They were pouring into her mind. "Who knows how crazy things could get if your secret identity was revealed? I just don't see how it could benefit anyone at all. Nobody but the criminals who would be out to get you."

"Exactly!" Supes said, his eyes now having grown to the size of Ding-Dongs. He seemed so happy that someone actually understood his reasons for privacy, and Lana truly did understand—and was encouraging him to keep his secrets, no less. "And those who would be in the most danger would be my family and friends. I could never do that to them."

Lana bit her lip and nodded. She wasn't sure if Lois had ever thought of those types of consequences, but Lana surely had. It wasn't that it scared her, but she was a bright girl—if she ever discovered who Superman was, she'd be the last person to blab the information. It would not only endanger her own life, but certainly many others who were close to either one of Superman's identities. Most of all, she'd never betray Superman, just as she hadn't done to her web-slinging buddy in New York City.

No amount of fame or fortune could tempt her into that.

"Speaking of friends," Lana said, realizing there might be a back-door chance to find out about the flowers—now that she and Supes seemed so comfortable chatting. "Have you had an opportunity to make up for missing your date with Lois last night?"

Superman stood stone still for a few moments, seeming to plan his words wisely. "I broke up with her tonight. It's been coming for a while now, and I felt horrible for doing it, but it had to happen."

He _broke up_ with her? Oh geez, and now he was here seeing Lana. That didn't look good—not good at all. And he hadn't even given her a clue about the flowers. _Dang! They probably were from Clark then!_

"Oh, that's, umm, big news," Lana said, unable to look at him. "But don't worry, I don't plan on printing the _news_ of it."

"I wouldn't mind if you did," he said, seeming sincere. "But I'm afraid Lois would."

Lana nodded. "Yeah, I'd bet on that. And I'd like to keep our new friendship going in the right direction if we're going to be roommates."

Superman smiled. "Now, you've asked me a bunch of questions, don't you think it's only fair if I get to question you?"

Laughing, Lana tipped her head. "What would you possibly like to know about _me_?"

"Oh, I don't know," Supes said, folding his arms across his broad chest. "Tell me about _your_ friends. Maybe we could start with Clark, since I happen to know he's not in the habit of lending his car out to just anybody. You two must be getting along quite well."

**Chapter 14 **

_- The Grand Metropolis Hotel -_

It had taken all of Superman's _and_ Clark Kent's confidence put together to ask Lana the question. What did she think of Clark? He knew he was being a bit shady asking this way, but hoped she'd offer some sort of clue to why she had suddenly changed her mind about dinner that evening. Yes, he believed it was probably best that they slowed things down a bit, because he certainly would rather have her back off now than after the romance heated up. But still, was it just common sense that made her back off with such ease? Clark wasn't so sure, so Superman would have to do his dirty work.

What guy wouldn't love to have an alter-ego like he had? _Cool, confident Supes—he could save the day._

"Clark, huh?" Lana answered, with one brow raised. "He must be a busy boy, having to send his wingman over to gather information. I knew there had to be a reason for your visit."

Supes about choked on his tongue of steel. "What! No, I uhh," he stammered. Man, this chick was tough. He thought his lead-in had been pretty smooth. _Clark Kent-like smooth, you big doofus._ "Lana, I actually came because I wanted to thank you for your kind words and support last night. Lex Luthor had made me feel like a complete failure after that fire, and you really set me straight."

Lana nodded, her arms folded. "Well, it's nice of you to drop by," she said, still having that gleam in her eye that set off Superman's trouble sensors. "Now, tell me the truth—because I trust that Superman would never do otherwise—did Clark know you were coming?"

His burly shoulders drooped. He was caught. "Well, yes."

"Hmmm," was all Lana said, nodding.

"Hmmm, what?" Supes asked, flustered. He _never_ got flustered. What was wrong with him? It felt like Clark was taking over. "When a woman says, _hmmm_, it's like she's just handed a guy a death sentence. I told the truth, so what's with the look you're still giving me?"

Lana smiled. "It's the same look I'd be giving Clark Kent right now. The one that tells him if he really wants to know my thoughts, he should ask me himself—the big chicken." She laughed, and Supes was relieved to see she wasn't upset. "Of course, I'm flattered that he'd stoop to the junior high level of having a buddy find out if a girl likes him, but I don't play those games anymore. And I've already told Clark enough to embarrass myself for a lifetime."

"Why would it embarrass you?" Supes asked.

"That's none of your business, Mr. Super-snoop," she said, with a stubborn shake of her head. "And if Clark tells you a single word of our conversations, he can plan on a very long drought of silence from me. Feel free to pass _that_ along."

"Ouch!" Supes said, laughing at her sassy grin. And geez, girls kiss and tell all the time—or talk and tell, or shop and tell . . . that's all they do. What was wrong with two guys talking about who they were dating? Okay, it was just one guy, but she didn't know that. "Clark only wanted me to ask you three specific yes or no questions, but if you don't want to know what they are, I won't keep you any longer."

Superman gave a look of disinterest, like it didn't matter one way or the other to him.

Lana's curiosity definitely seemed piqued though. "Okay, well, you can ask the questions, but it doesn't mean I'll answer them."

"Fair enough," Supes said, a sense of thrill building inside him. "Do you have any heart conditions or other medical issues preventing you from riding roller coasters?"

Lana squinted with confusion, with a wry smile. "No. Why would he—"

"Are you afraid of heights?"

"No," she said, her amusement growing.

Supes stepped closer, almost next to her. "Are you a member of Delta's frequent flyer program?"

Lana couldn't even answer, she just nodded and laughed.

"Then it's your lucky day, Miss Lang!" he said, scooping her up in his arms. "You've just earned yourself a free trip."

The high-pitch of Lana's thrilling scream sounded like music, piercing through Superman's ear, as he jetted into the great sea of stars. Superman may have been wearing the superhero costume, but to him, it felt like he was taking Lana for the ride of her life as Clark Kent. He only hoped it wouldn't be much longer until Lana looked into his eyes and recognized him for who he was.

He couldn't imagine a better moment.

- - -

The following morning was absolute torture for Clark. He must've checked the time on two dozen occasions. From his watch, to his computer clock, to what the news floor called the _Deadline Grim Reaper_ high on the wall. Not one of them was counting the moments until lunch any faster than the other.

Man, he wanted the morning to go by at super-speed! Why had they agreed on noon? Why couldn't it have been eleven? Or earlier! He should've suggested breakfast.

Superman had been with Lana until nearly midnight. She seemed to have a blast flying, and never showed a single sign of wanting to stop. Though Clark had been holding Lana in his arms—or holding her hand as she gained the confidence to stretch her own wings, Clark never felt like she was the least bit interested in Supes romantically. He wasn't sure yet how to interpret that. On one hand, he wanted Lana to save her attention only for Clark, but on the other, he hoped she would like Superman as well. He was an important part of Clark that she would eventually need to accept.

When Clark arrived at work, he had an interesting email message waiting for him:

To: Clark Kent

Re: The Answers to Your Questions

Dear Mr. Kent:

Late last evening, it came to my attention that you have concerns about my health, phobias, and travel habits. The rather odd interview came as a shock to me, especially given the agent charged with issuing the questions. Assuming you have not yet had the opportunity to speak with your super-spy, I am sending my written response:

No  
No  
Yes

I trust you know which answer belongs to which question, as my hair is now tangled in knots, and I lost both my room key and favorite clip somewhere over Metropolis lake.

In response, I find it necessary to issue a list of my own _routine_ interview questions:

How many girlfriends have you had?  
What is your favorite color?  
What was the last item you donated to charity?  
What color are my eyes?  
Have you ever served time in Federal Prison?  
How many bugs have you swallowed?  
Did you brush your teeth this morning?  
What would you like to eat for lunch?

Kind Regards,  
Lana Lang

When Clark read through her list of questions, he not only started laughing, but knew exactly what to do. He hit the reply button and had some fun:

To: Lana Lang

Re: The Answers to Your Questions

Dear Ms. Lang:

I extend my apologies concerning the tangles, room key, and your hair clip. Contact my attorney at: Ihopeyoustillhadfundivasindistress.wah.

Pertaining to your list of _routine_ questions, here are my answers:

Too many to recall  
Hazel  
A sandwich from The Deli on 5th  
Red  
Yes  
Two—the poor things  
No  
My old shoes

I trust you can remember the order in which you asked your questions, because I could not. I believe I confused an answer or two. Perhaps if you refer back to your original email, you can decipher the mix-ups.

Even Kinder Regards,  
Clark Kent

P.S. We could swing by Metropolis lake during lunch. I'm a good swimmer. : )

Clark sent off the email, then held his breath, knowing Lana was at her desk. Less than a minute later, he heard her laughing. He got a big grin on his face, but tried to get back to work. It wasn't happening—especially since it didn't take long for Lana to send Clark an instant message.

LLang: I can't believe I'm saying this, but I sure hope your response to the girlfriend question actually refers to how many bugs you've swallowed.  
_CKent: Would it make a difference?_  
LLang: Maybe.  
_CKent: Why? Do you have something against people who eat bugs? I brushed my teeth, didn't I?_  
LLang: Oh, did you? I thought you answered 'yes' to the Federal Prison question, and 'no' to brushing your teeth this morning.  
_CKent: No comment._

Right then, Clark heard Lois say, "Hey, Lana. It looks like I'll be out of town this weekend when you move in, so here's your key. The front desk is expecting you, so you don't need to worry about security. Not that you couldn't flirt your way past them anyway."

"Thanks, Lois," Lana said, sounding a bit nervous. Clark wondered if she'd been able to minimize her IM box in time to hide their conversation before Lois walked up.

"Whoa, looks like things with the farm boy are getting cozy in a hurry," Lois said, dropping to a whisper.

Clark had turned on his super-hearing again without realizing it. He tried to obey his conscience when he noticed, but couldn't make himself. After all, Lois could be black-balling him, and if he knew that for sure, he wouldn't let her get away with it.

"Umm, we're just, umm—" Lana stuttered.

Lois laughed. "When a guy tells you he's brushed his teeth, it's a pretty obvious hint."

"Actually—"

Clark wished Lana would tell Lois to get lost, in a not-so-polite way.

"Just remember what I said yesterday. And I forgot to add—Clark kisses like a fish."

_What the hell?_ Clark nearly said. He stood right up, not about to let this go any further. He was tall enough that Lois saw him stand and started off down the aisle without another word.

"Lois," he said, going after her before she escaped Lana's range of hearing. He wanted Lana to hear every word. "How would you know that?"

Lois slowed but didn't stop. She looked over her shoulder with panic written all over her face. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

Clark had to be careful. He couldn't tell Lois, _I've never kissed you,_ because that wasn't technically true. And he was doing his best to prepare for when Lana would one day know the truth about Superman. The last thing he wanted to do was set up a string of lies for Lana to have to sort through.

"Oh, come on," Clark told Lois, trying to keep a tone of banter for Lana's sake—but Lois had to know how serious he was. He'd rarely confronted her like this. "You whisper about as quietly as a train wreck."

Lois turned on Clark, putting a hand on her hip. "I was joking. But with those big lips of yours, how could you help but pucker up like a giant bass?"

Clark forced a laugh, then smiled. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Then he turned and walked away from her, past Lana who had her back to him, looking at her computer screen. He knew it was risky, but he ran his fingers over Lana's satin shirt—right along her shoulder blades.

She shivered, but didn't say anything.

When Clark returned to his desk, the last line in his Instant Message box said:

LLang: For future reference, I LOVE SEAFOOD!

**Chapter 15 **

_- Downtown Metropolis – The Deli on 5th -_

Clark and Lana had slipped into a half-round corner booth at the Deli on 5th. Clark ordered quickly, already knowing what sandwich he wanted. But Lana was too distracted to even read the menu.

She was sitting on the end of the booth, while Clark was in the middle, a good two feet from her. Somehow, though, inch by inch they scooted closer to one another while they were discussing Lana's ordering options.

By the time she and Clark were bumping elbows, all Lana wanted was _seafood_. And lots of it.

For the life of her, she couldn't stop looking at Clark's juicy lips—when he talked, when he smiled . . . when he breathed.

_Exactly how trampy would it be,_ Lana asked herself, _if I said, 'Clark, let's forget about lunch. Just give me what I'm REALLY hungry for.'_ Yep, pretty darn trampy, she decided with a disappointed sigh.

The waiter, who had already brought them water, returned for their order but Lana still hadn't settled on anything. She motioned for Clark to order first, which he did, then told him, "Clark, just pick something for me."

He glanced over to make sure she was serious. "She'll have a Turkey Avocado Croissant sandwich." Clark paused to ask, "With sprouts or lettuce?"

"Sprouts," Lana said, smiling. He had made a perfect pick, one she would've chosen herself if she could focus enough to make words out of the jumble of letters on the menu. "And a regular Coke."

"Regular?" asked the waiter, who had been eyeing her way too much for comfort from the time they walked in.

"Regular—as in fully loaded," Lana said. "Do I look like I need a _Diet_ Coke?"

"No!" he said, raising up on his toes to get a better peek of the rest of her. "You're just perfect, trust me."

Clark surprised Lana when he slipped his arm around her back and scooted closer. She almost melted right onto the floor. "Perhaps a better question would be: Does she look like she's _available?_" Clark asked. The waiter froze, dropping his eyes to his order pad in a hurry. Then Clark tacked on, "I didn't think so."

When the guy rushed off, Lana laughed. "Thanks. He was kinda giving me the creeps."

Looking down into Lana's eyes, Clark said, "That must happen all day long—guys gawking at you."

Lana didn't know how to answer. Yes, it did happen to her everywhere she went, but there was no humble way to admit that. "Clark, I'd need a calculator to keep track of how many women I've caught staring at _you._"

He shifted uncomfortably, removing his arm and giving her some space—space she didn't want at the moment. "They're just checking out my big ol' fish lips."

Lana still wasn't sure how to interpret the earlier conversation between Clark and Lois. First of all, her heart rate had hit the roof when Lois started talking before Lana even knew she was behind her. She hadn't had time to hide her IM conversation with Clark, and about fell off her chair when Lois made her stupid remarks.

The worst moment of all, however, was when Lois hinted that Clark had kissed her. Common sense told Lana not to be bothered by it. After all, Clark just barely met Lana, but had known Lois for years. Perhaps they'd had a closer relationship at one time than Lana was aware of.

But no matter what she told herself, Lana desperately hoped it wasn't true. She was already fighting her hardest to accept the fact that Clark still had lingering feelings for Lois, and couldn't shake the terrifying prospect of becoming a rebound relationship for him.

One comforting thought, however, was that Clark had bolted like lightning to call Lois out on her kissing claim, so chances were good that Lois was straight-out lying.

Though Lana's inner alarms were ringing like fire drills, they miraculously calmed whenever she was with Clark. Because when he looked at her, everything in her universe seemed right. He made it easy to forget about Lois. And it was even easier for Lana to forget about her resolve to take things slow with him, but she knew she had to if she was going to find the _lasting_ peace she sought.

"Fish lips?" Lana asked Clark, placing her hand on his jaw and turning his face more toward her. "I'm pretty sure Lois said that you have _lush_ lips, not fish lips. And I have to agree. They're perfect."

Clark's chest rose as he drew a long breath. "You could always check them out for yourself. You know, clear the matter up one way or another."

Lana felt her face flush. Clark's was already red. "Are you flirting with me?" she said, trying to maintain eye contact.

"Who? Me?" Clark asked with absolute innocence. "I wouldn't dare."

"Oh, is that right?" Lana said. "Not here, huh?"

"Or in an elevator."

"What about a playground?"

Clark shook his head. "And definitely not in emails."

"Or in the hall?"

"Or over the phone," Clark said, unwavering. "Not in a box with a fox."

Lana laughed. Now he was attempting to quote _Green Eggs and Ham_ by Dr. Seuss. "Well, thanks for the compliment, but I doubt the two of us could fit in a box."

Clark smiled. "We could try."

"Oh, I think that would definitely be more dangerous that being stuck in an elevator with you," Lana said, feeling sweaty at the thought. Then she noticed how she was almost snuggled right up to Clark . . . and wait . . . how did her fingers get tangled up with his?

She looked down at their hands with a curious smile. "How did that happen?"

"No idea."

"You're a sneaky one!"

Clark laughed hard. "You're the one who did it. I swear!"

Lana bit down on both lips, her eyes wide with shock. "You better tell me the next time my hand goes somewhere without me knowing it."

He coughed while he said, "No chance."

"Such a typical male," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, I guarantee you're wrong about that," Clark said, then took a sip of his drink that a different waiter had just delivered to the table. Different guy, same problem—he was scanning Lana over every bit as much.

Clark stared him down like a pit bull, and he scrambled to get out of there as quickly as the previous dude.

Lana sipped her drink, too, seeming oblivious to the new stalker. "I don't see anything _too_ different about you." She was being completely sarcastic, because Clark was unlike any guy she'd ever known. "Besides the fact that you have Supes as a wingman."

Clark raised his brows with a half-grin. "So, what did you think of him—pretty cool dude, huh?"

"Sure, if you don't mind a guy who wears a cape," Lana said.

Squinting, Clark asked, "You don't like the cape?"

"Oh, the cape is hot. It just makes me wonder what he's covering up," Lana said, then took another casual sip. "A flat butt, maybe?"

Clark spit out his soda, coughing.

Lana laughed so hard at Clark's reaction that she knocked her own soda right over. They both started frantically grabbing napkins out of the dispenser on their table, trying to clean up the mess.

"All I'm saying is that maybe Superman is self-conscious about his backside," Lana said, barely managing to catch her breath. "Perhaps I could suggest steel butt implants."

Clark appeared to be speechless, shaking his head with wide, disbelieving eyes. He finally choked out, "You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you? You must think he's cute."

"Cute?" Lana asked, settling back beside Clark and admiring the mountain of soda-soaked napkins in the middle of the table. "What I think is really 'cute' is that you jumped back ten years on the maturity timeline and sent your buddy to ask if I liked you."

Clark scratched his head, wearing an embarrassed, crooked smile. "Okay, I'll admit it. That was a lame move, but you left me with a lot of questions after we spoke last night."

Lana saw the true frustration in his eyes and it made her gut tighten with regret. "I know, Clark. I'm sorry. But I thought you said you understood."

He looked down at their hands, still interlocked, and stroked her skin with his thumb. Lana loved it, feeling his genuine affection for her.

"Well, I _did_ understand at the time—kind of," Clark said. "But then I started thinking things over, and—" he stopped mid-sentence, finishing only with a heavy sigh.

"Yeah, I know. It didn't make sense," Lana said.

"Not really," Clark said. "But I have a hunch that you rearranging our date had something to do with going to lunch with Lois—and if that's true, please ignore everything she said. You heard her today—she has no boundaries whatsoever. It makes me crazy."

Lana shook her head. "Clark, it wasn't anything Lois told me. I've already figured out that if _anyone_ is a big mouth bass, it's her."

Clark nodded, leaning closer. "It doesn't take long, does it?"

Instantly feeling bad for her remark, Lana said, "I don't mean to be rude, because Lois is your friend, and she's been nice to me. But I'm not sure yet if I can trust what she tells me. Especially about you."

"As I said, please don't. Lois is going through a break-up right now, so watching the two of us is bound to get on her nerves," Clark said. "That is, if you let me _truly_ date you anytime soon."

"We _are_ dating, Clark," she said. "We just need to, umm, take it slow." She pulled back a bit, and laughed. "And we're not doing a very good job of it."

Clark smiled. "I'm not usually an octopus, I promise."

"I'm wondering if we have secretly embedded magnets under our skin, because I can't seem to keep my distance from you."

Clark's eyes lost their sparkle. With hesitancy, he asked, "Is that what you think we should do—keep our distance for a while?"

Lana was quick to shake her head. "No. But, look at us. We're tangled up like a ball of yarn. At a busy restaurant, no less," she said, noticing for the first time how several people around them were peeking over their shoulders. "And I'm enjoying every moment of it, more than I dare admit. I just think it's wise to hold off on getting too physically involved before we get to know each other better. And it seems like it will be easier if we stick to lunch dates for a while."

"For a _while_?" Clark asked, swallowing. "How will I know when it's okay to—" he gulped again, "—move forward."

Lana certainly didn't want to take the spontaneity out of their first kiss, which she'd already imagined several times—so she thought of a flexible plan. "Let's just say anytime after a month from now is good."

"A month!" Clark said, his voice carrying through the entire room. "I can't wait that long."

Clark threw his hand over his mouth—girl style. Everyone had turned to stare. One woman cupped her hands over her young daughter's ears and said, "Get a room, sickos!"

Both Clark and Lana lowered their heads, hiding behind a wall they hurried to make with their hands so they could whisper.

"Sorry, that probably sounded worse than it was," Clark said, his face glowing like Rudolph's nose.

"Well, it didn't help that I was practically in your lap when you said it." Lana laughed. "I feel like I should stand up and explain—'No need to panic, we're practicing _safe-dating_.'"

"Safe-dating?" Clark said, dropping his head to the table. "My mom would be so proud."

Lana ran a soothing hand up Clark's back and leaned over to whisper in his ear. "If we're patient, Clark, I _know_ it will be worth it. You're the most amazing guy I've ever met, and I don't want to take the chance of this turning into anything less than what it's meant to be."

Clark turned his head, raising up just enough so their faces could be even. "Lana, I have this feeling inside me that's never been there before. And as anxious as I am to find out what that means, I'll wait as long as I need to."

Their moment in heaven was interrupted by a sharp, high voice. "Here's your order to go."

They both sat straight, to find two Styrofoam containers on the edge of their table. "We didn't order our meals to go," Clark said.

The irritable woman, wearing a tag with the title _Manager_, slid the containers closer to Clark and Lana. "Yes you did."

- - -

"I can't believe we just got thrown out of a deli for _public lewdness_," Lana said, laughing as they ran across the street to Metropolis park. "Is that even a crime?"

"Sure it is," Clark said, squeezing her hand. "I've been arrested for it dozens of times."

Lana looked up, squinting. "I don't think this 'getting to know you' bit is going in the right direction, Kent."

"Oh, don't jump to conclusions so soon," Clark said with a smirk. "Just because you got me banned from my favorite lunch spot doesn't mean I'm mad at you."

Lana backhanded his chest. "Whatever!"

Clark set their lunch down, then grabbed Lana by the hips and hoisted her onto a park bench. Even with her standing up there, she was only a few inches higher than Clark.

"Lana, if this relationship is going to work," Clark said, "you'll need to learn to control yourself."

She was warmed all the way through by his smile and shining green eyes . . . the tone of his voice, the tight grip he had on her hips . . . everything.

Lana took his face in her hands, and softly said, "Okay, I'll behave. But only in public."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 16**

_- Lex Luthor's Office – Metropolis LuthorCorp -_

For the next two days, Clark and Lana met for lunch, chatted up a storm as always, and did their best to keep their lips from _accidentally_ bumping into each other. Lana was feeling better every day about the way things were going. And Clark seemed to be just as content. 

There was an interesting pattern they were following. The two of them would start out their lunch dates with a round of silly flirting, settle into serious conversation about one another's current and past life experiences, then it would eventually turn to some tender words along the lines of, "You make me laugh . . . you make me smile," and then there would be mutual, yet slightly embarrassing sighs, when they both inwardly concluded, "You were made for me."

Despite where she was headed, Lana strolled happily down the sidewalk Friday at four, leaving The Daily Planet early to meet with Lex Luthor about an article he wanted written about his father. Although Lana had been trying to avoid him, Lex had finally caught up with her. She would've continued to diss his advances, but she didn't have a choice this time—even with Chloe's warning that Lex was trouble, which Lana didn't even need her to say.

However, the order to meet with Lex was given to her directly from Perry White. "Big dollars here, Miss Lang," White had told her.

When Lana had told White that the customary obituary she had written for Lionel Luthor was already printed in Wednesday's paper, she was told that Lex decided he wanted something on a grander scale, especially since the funeral was now postponed—due to an impending autopsy.

Lana was curious about why an autopsy was being performed on a fire victim, but didn't feel it was a wise topic to discuss with a mourning son. She wondered, however, exactly how distraught this Lex Luthor was. After all, she'd received the forest of flowers the very day after his father died—along with a note asking her to dinner. Lana hadn't responded to the number he attached. Then for the following two days, Lex had left messages for Lana, insuring that she received his invitation. She hadn't returned those calls either.

But here she was, walking into LuthorCorp against her will. And Lex wanted her to write an extended obituary? Yeah, right. How did he even know she compiled that section of the paper? Or even _worked_ at the Daily Planet? Who was this guy, a mob boss? Geez.

It made Lana think twice about being a good Samaritan ever again. But who knew that by helping out someone who she thought was in need at the fire, that she would've gained a stalker?

Right before she was escorted into Lex Luthor's office, she shuddered. This guy had to be some sort of freak to pursue her like this—when she'd given absolutely no sign of interest, but straight-up shunned him. 

"Hello, Miss Lang. Please come in," Lex said, standing from his desk and walking over to shake Lana's hand.

"Mr. Luthor," she said.

"Please call me Lex," he replied, giving his most charming smile.

_Not a chance. And don't you dare drop your eyes down there again, you perv._

Lana showed herself to the chair in front of his desk, so he'd take the hint that she wasn't there for a social call. "I understand that you'd like me to write an article honoring your father. Is that correct?"

Lex hesitated, not responding until he'd settled into his own posh leather chair. "Yes, that's right. I _was_ curious, however, if I sent the bouquet of flowers to the right Lana Lang. I just wanted to thank you for being so compassionate the night of the fire." He ran his hand over his bald, sweaty head. "I was such a mess that night."

"I'm very sorry about your father, Mr. Luthor," she said, not calling him Lex to let him know she planned to keep her distance. "And thank you for the flowers. I should've sent a note to let you know I received them."

Lex squinted. "So, you're turning me down on my dinner invitation? I'd really like a chance to thank you properly for being a friend when you didn't even know me."

Lana gave a thin smile. "The flowers were thanks enough. I appreciate your offer, but I'm seeing someone right now."

Lex started tapping a pen on the top of his desk. "Wow. You know I don't even remember the last time a woman turned me down." He smiled, like this revelation would change her mind. "It must be a serious relationship."

Lana wouldn't have minded getting all starry-eyed as she told Lex about Clark, but she wanted to get the hell out of there. "Let's focus on honoring your father. Do you have any information for me—articles, interviews with him, etcetera—that I could use for my research?"

"It's all with my secretary down the hall," Lex said, sounding a little miffed.

"Thank you," Lana said, grabbing her belongings from the floor beside her. She stood and held her hand out to shake his across the desk. "I'll inform your office when the article is ready for review."

Lex gripped her hand, much stronger than before. "It's been a pleasure. I'm sure we'll see one another again."

_Not if I can help it._ He was glancing at her chest again. If she would've known she was meeting with him today, she would've worn a blouse with a higher neckline—and baggy slacks—as she was sure he'd check out her other side as she left his office.

She gave a rigid smile. "Good day, Mr. Luthor," she said, then turned and hurried from the room.

Lana made it half-way down the long hall leading to Lex's secretary's station before she noticed she was missing her purse. She'd only grabbed the curious gift bag Clark had left on her desk. She hadn't opened it yet, waiting for a moment that she could be alone and enjoy whatever surprise he had in store for her. And there was also a card, that she knew would be the best part. If she had given into the temptation to read it as she made her way to LuthorCorp, Lana knew she wouldn't have been able to be the stonehearted wench she had to be with Lex. She wouldn't have been able to wipe the genuine smile from her face long enough.

Dreading the thought of going back in Lex's office for her purse, she pulled up her blouse as high as she could, then made her way back. She stopped, however, when she heard Lex's voice, strong and clear—he was obviously upset with someone. She wouldn't be surprised if it was her.

"I don't care what you have to do," he said. "You put an end to that investigation, or you'll be the one on the coroner's table." There was a pause, then Lex continued, "Damn! How did they get the autopsy done so quickly? You better take care of this mess before the results come back. And take whatever steps necessary to keep the medical examiner quiet. You . . . " Lex went on, calling the person on other side of the phone call words that Lana had never even heard—and she was a New Yorker.

With Lex still ranting, she practically ran down the hall, but slowed before she came within sight of the secretary. Lana gave a pleasant smile. "Have a wonderful day," she said, acting as calm as possible on her way to the elevator.

It wasn't until she was down in the lobby that she had security call up and _inquire_ about her purse. It was delivered to her ten minutes later—but it seemed like a lifetime. She didn't have time for this! But she also didn't dare leave her purse with Lex—it had her new apartment key, her cell phone, everything.

As soon as she left the building, she fumbled to find her cell in her purse. Now that she was out of there, her nerves turned on and her hands were shaking. _Lex murdered his father!_ That was the only explanation for what she had heard. She was terrified about going to the police, knowing Lex couldn't be a typical scumbag if he was cold enough to off his own dad. Lana knew from her investigative work in New York that thugs like him could have informants anywhere, even the police station.

She was going to someone higher than the law—someone that for a reason she couldn't explain, she already trusted.

Scrolling down her cell phone list as quickly as possible, she found the number and pushed send. "Clark! I need you to meet me right away!" she said, before he'd even finished his greeting.

"What's wrong, Lana? Where are you?"

She knew panic had to be evident in her voice. "I'll meet you at Metropolis Park in five minutes—at the same bench we ate lunch on." She stuck out her hand to flag down a taxi.

"Okay, but you're freaking me out. What's going on?"

"I don't have time to tell you now. Do you have a way to contact Superman?" Lana asked. She knew it was a long shot, but Clark seemed to be close enough friends with Supes that it was possible.

Clark paused, then said, "Yeah, I actually do."

"Good!" she said, jumping into a taxi and instructing the driver to get to Metropolis Park as soon as possible. "I'll see you there, Clark."

- - -  
Clark's only break was that Lana hadn't asked him to bring Superman to the park with him. He hated the fact that he was already thinking up lies the moment she asked if he knew how to contact Superman. Clark was determined not to lie to her. He'd never been able to avoid it with anyone else in his life, though. But so far, so good with Lana.

Getting to the park right away, Clark waited impatiently. When he saw Lana get out of a cab, he rushed over to greet her. As soon as she closed the taxi door, he put his hands on her shoulders and made eye contact. The look on her face frightened the Kryptonite out of him.

Without warning, Lana threw her arms around Clark's waist in a death grip. He stroked her back, saying, "You're okay now, Lana. Let's go to the bench and talk about what happened."

A slew of horrible thoughts had gone through Clark's mind since their phone call, but Lana didn't look hurt on the outside. That wasn't always the worst way to be hurt though.

Lana looked around nervously as they walked to the bench, with Clark's strong arm around her. "Clark, Perry White sent me to Lex Luthor's office so I could do an article on his father, and I heard something—" she drew a deep breath. Clark could tell she was close to tears. "—Lex was upset with someone, they were talking on the phone, and he told them . . . " Lana went on to repeat what she had heard.

Clark chilled, knowing Lex was serious about taking care of things however he could. He'd seen him do it before. But as complicated as Lex's relationship was with Lionel, it made Clark sick to think he'd gone this far. Though he wasn't surprised—Chloe and Clark had already talked about the possibility of Lex being involved in the fire. Superman hadn't mentioned that to the police chief though, when he spoke with him this week and pushed for the autopsies.

Just as Lana was finished, her cell phone rang and she jumped—grabbing it right away. "Good, it's just Chloe. I'm terrified that Lex somehow knows I heard him." She answered. "I thought you were supposed to be on a plane right now, Chloe."

Clark had just heard from Chloe moments before Lana called and knew she'd taken an earlier flight to Metropolis than she had planned—primarily to visit with both Clark and Lana before she escaped to a spa with Lois for the weekend.

"Can I speak with her?" Clark whispered to Lana, as she continued to listen to Chloe's explanation of why she was already in Metropolis.

Lana nodded and handed over her phone. "Hey, Chlo," Clark said. "Where are you?" She said that she was at a café a few blocks away from where they were. "Great. We'll be right over. Can you stay there with Lana for an hour or so?"

"Sure, what's up?" Chloe asked.

"I need to speak with someone, then I'll be back for her," Clark said, pulling Lana closer. Dang, she was still shaking. Lex had frightened her half to death. But then, what was new for the big rich jerk that he was?

Clark and Lana took another taxi to the café to get there as soon as possible. Lana had asked about Clark's Envoy, but he was able to get away with the truth once again—saying it was still at the Daily Planet. Hopefully, she assumed he had taken another form of transportation other than his super-feet.

Once inside the café, they both embraced Chloe, then Chloe looked between the two of them and grinned. "Oh man, you guys look even better side by side than I imagined. You should be on a magazine cover."

For the first time since Clark had seen her leave work with his gift bag in hand, Lana smiled. "Yeah, he's kinda cute," she said, tipping her head up to him. "But he's just enough of a goofball to stay humble."

"Hey!" Clark said, grabbing Lana's side and making her squeal. "I'm not a goofball, I'm just socially challenged—ask Chloe."

Chloe smirked. "Didn't you just pay me a hundred bucks to withhold that information? As well as a few more questionable points of interest?"

"Umm, no idea what you're talking about, Chloe," Clark said, backing toward the door. "Gotta go, I'll be back in an hour."

Both girls smiled at his silly exit, then Clark was off to find Superman—which wouldn't be hard.

**Chapter 17**

_- Downtown Metropolis – Corner Café -_

"So, what's going on?" Chloe asked Lana, her mind still reeling from seeing she and Clark with such googly eyes for one another. "You both looked like you'd seen ghosts when you walked in the café."

And they had also been holding hands, seeming perfectly comfortable with it in front of her. The whole situation was so strange for Chloe, but she couldn't help smiling.

Lana sat at Chloe's table, setting her belongings on top. She closed her eyes tight and shook her head, as though she was trying to banish what had just happened. "Chloe, as much as I trust you, I think it's best that Clark and I keep this to ourselves. He's gone to get Superman's help, then I'm sure everything will be okay."

Chloe raised her brows. "Clark went to get Supes?"

Looking like she'd made a mistake for telling Chloe that, Lana glanced out the window. "Umm, I guess he has his _ways_ of contacting him. I didn't want to pry."

"Lana, relax," Chloe said, reaching over and gripping her hand. "I'm already aware that Clark knows Superman even better than Lois does. I'm just shocked that he admitted that so soon. You and I both know that such a secret—of knowing exactly where to find a superhero—is a heavy burden to carry."

"Yeah," Lana said, her eyes filled with worry. "I probably shouldn't have asked. Clark hesitated when I did, and I should've taken the hint and found a way to contact Supes myself."

"No, trust me, Lana. You did the right thing. Whatever reason you felt you needed Superman's help, Clark must've felt it was justified, or he wouldn't have been so quick to admit the truth."

"Well, that's what I'm afraid of, that I kind of cornered him," Lana said. "And I didn't mean to, I just hadn't thought it through. I was panicking and knew there was only one person who could deal with the situation."

Chloe nodded. "Well, that would've been a sight. I'm not sure if I've ever seen the cool Miss Lang panic."

"Oh gosh," Lana said, laughing. "I've freaked out more this past week than I can even count. What's up with this city? I feel like it's given me a personality change. Especially when it comes to Clark."

"I'd say!"

Lana squinted, trying not to smile so big. "What has he told you?"

Rolling her eyes in innocence, Chloe said, "Just a bit more than you have, but only because I've pestered him."

"And?"

"And he likes you—a lot. But that can't be news to you," Chloe said. "Clark told me that he's spilled his heart out. Which trust me, is so _not_ like him, that I'm in total shock. He's notorious for hiding his emotions, and especially for dragging his feet when it comes to anything physical. But it seems like you two aren't having any problems at all in that arena—though Clark has refused to admit if he's kissed you."

Tilting her head, Lana's expression made the answer clear.

"Oh what a dork!" Chloe said, laughing. "Okay, listen. Don't worry, he's more whooped than I've _ever_ seen him, so don't think it's you. Clark just wigs out when it comes to that stuff."

Lana had been shaking her head the whole time Chloe was talking. "No, it's not him. I told Clark that we needed some more time to get to know each other better—because the physical chemistry is _obviously_ there, so strong in fact, that it scares me to pieces. We've been kicked out of _two_ restaurants this week. So today, we skipped the formality. We ordered at a drive-thru and ate in his Envoy."

Chloe was laughing hysterically. "I don't get it. If you aren't kissing, what do you do to get kicked out?"

Lana shrugged, giggling as well. "I'm not sure. But yesterday was definitely _not_ our fault. Clark's napkin suddenly caught on fire. It was crazy! We were minding our business, having a sweet conversation—and well, playing footsies, but then there were instantaneous flames and Clark grabbed his water and put them out—that's all. Then the manager came over and booted us. Lame huh? I mean, something was weird with their napkins, so we should've been the ones getting an apology."

_Oh, Clark is never gonna live that one down!_ Chloe mused to herself. As far as she knew, Clark hadn't lost control of his heat-vision since he was a sophomore in high school.

"Yep, something was definitely going on, all right," Chloe said, smiling.

"Anyway, I know it sounds crazy that I want to hold off on kissing for now," Lana said, "but I have my reasons. Some of which I've shared with Clark, and others that I'm not ready to tell him yet."

Chloe sighed, sure she knew what it was. "You're afraid of getting into another serious relationship so soon?"

"Well, I should be, and it's a little bit of that," Lana said. "But there's more." She paused, taking a breath—her eyes sparkling like diamonds. "Chloe, I want to be the one to tell Clark all of this, so please respect that, no matter how much he pumps you for information."

Chloe nodded, but crossed her fingers under the table, just in case she _had_ to say something to Clark.

"When I first met Jason, or any other guy I've liked, there were definitely sparks. It feels good to start a relationship, you know that," Lana said. "But something feels different about Clark, and I don't want those sparks to go away like they have with everyone else. It seems like as soon as you start kissing—especially when it's with someone you've just met, that's all you ever do. And no matter how good it feels, those sparks start to fade if there isn't something more meaningful in the relationship—like a good, strong base of friendship."

It made sense that Lana would think this way—she was always analyzing things—but Chloe had to wonder if there was something more. Lana had cancelled that date with Clark Tuesday night way too quickly to have already thought _all_ of this through.

Lana continued, "I've never really had that, and that was the most critical thing missing with Jason. We had fun, sure. But when I got to know the real him, I discovered that he wasn't who I was looking for. And by then, our lives were so interconnected socially—as a couple—that I kept it going far too long, just hoping that we could _become_ better friends. But it didn't happen, so I really believe there's only one chance for that—at the beginning of a relationship, before you don't know how to separate your physical and emotional attraction to someone, in order to know how you really feel."

Chloe could only think of one thing to say. "In other words, Clark is a guy you think you can _truly_ fall in love with."

"Exactly," Lana said, with a breathless sigh. "And I want him to feel the same way about me. It would kill me if this intense passion we already have got in the way of establishing something more permanent. Most guys are wired differently than we are. They get their fill of one thing, then they need more. And you know the line I've drawn for myself, and no matter how many times a guy has told me he would respect that, when it comes down to the moment—he doesn't want to. And it's not that I'm a prude, it's just a matter of being ready for something in a relationship that I've never felt ready for. When a guy keeps pushing me in that direction, it makes one thing clear—he's only in it for the thrill. And I want more than that."

Well, Chloe had surely had her own experience with those types of relationships since high school. No matter how far she went with the guy, thinking his feelings were as strong as her own, he did eventually _get his fill_ and move onto a new girl he could start all over with. Chloe was sure Lana was right, that the element missing in her relationships as well, was a strong base of friendship and respect.

"Okay, I know what you're saying, Lana," Chloe said. "And I agree. I want you to know, however, that Clark and I have been friends for half our lives, and I can honestly tell you that he's not like that. I'm one hundred percent certain that what he feels for you is _real_."

"Everything _feels_ real when it starts out," Lana said, her eyes starting to tear up. Chloe had never seen her like this—it was obvious that what she felt for Clark was genuine. "What I want for Clark and I is something that _is_ real, that never ends. He's amazing, and he makes me smile, and feel safe, and at peace. I haven't felt peace for a single moment since my parents died, until I met Clark."

"He completes you," Chloe said with a dry smirk, quoting the famous line from Jerry McGuire.

Lana laughed. "Yep, he definitely 'had me at hello,'" she said. "Or actually, it was more like he almost killed me with the roof's heavy steel door, then couldn't get out a straight sentence to save his life. But, nevertheless, he was adorable."

"That's more like the Clark Kent I know," Chloe said. "But you won't even go for a simple kiss, huh?"

"Well, I told him I wanted to wait a month, because I have a feeling that even a _simple kiss_ would be impossible," Lana answered, turning a slight shade of red. "The first touch of our lips will be a pretty big deal. For one thing, we'll both have to take a week off from work."

"Huh? Why?"

"Because I already know we'll need it—once we start kissing, we won't be able to stop!" Lana said. "So meanwhile, I'm enjoying the heck out of getting to know this amazing guy who gives _having butterflies in my tummy_ a whole new meaning. Clark makes me feel like I can _fly!_"

Chloe inadvertently coughed. "Well, umm, speaking of flying, your message said that Supes came to see you again last night. What happened?"

"Not much," Lana said, squirming a bit. "We talked for a while—kind of a twenty questions session, then he took me flying again. I loved it, but asked him to take me back after only a few minutes."

Clark had already told Chloe that part, and she was dying to know why Lana had suddenly asked to return to her hotel. "Why? Were you cold, or something?"

Lana squirmed again. "Well, you'll think I'm losing my mind, but I . . . gosh, I don't even know how to explain this. But sometimes, when Supes smiles, he reminds me of Clark. It's strange, because it's not always like that. But last night, something even crazier happened and it freaked me out. That's why I felt it was time to go back."

Chloe had goose bumps, knowing exactly what this had to mean. "What?" she asked, casually sipping the drink she'd been ignoring.

Lana leaned across the table. "As I'm sure you've noticed, Supes has these brilliantly blue eyes. So blue, that they seem supernatural," she said. "Last night, however, I was enjoying the air—that flying stuff is so therapeutic—and thinking about Clark like I always do, when I looked over to say something and, Chloe, I _swear_, Superman's eyes had turned green! It was only for a few seconds, but am I going crazy, or what?"

Trying her best not to over-react, Chloe said, "No, you're not going crazy, Lana. You're falling in love."

Lana shook her head. "Well, not with Superman!"

"I know, I know. But what I mean is that no matter what you're doing, or no matter who you're with, your mind and heart are always with someone else," Chloe said, which seemed true, but didn't expose _all_ of what was going on.

Lana's distraught expression was replaced by a smile of relief. "Yeah, that must be all it is. How funny. Clark isn't only invading my heart, he's messing with my mind as well."

"Well, guys often do," Chloe said. "Their ability to drive us to insanity is a superpower they all seem to have."

"True," Lana said. "And there's something else that started bugging me last night. I know it's not unusual for a guy to want his friends to get to know a girl he's dating, but it seems like Clark is encouraging this Superman thing a bit too much. I understand that he wants me to have some fun flying, but it's kinda awkward. Supes and I talk about a lot of things, and some of it is becoming quite personal—not like Clark and I share our life experiences, but still. Isn't Clark afraid that, you know . . . "

Chloe almost burst out into laughter, barely stopping herself. "No, Clark isn't worried that Supes is after you for himself. He trusts him."

"I don't know how he can," Lana said, seeming uncomfortable again. "If I remember right, Clark liked Lois long before she met Superman, then the hero came along and swept Lois off her feet. Why is Clark so sure Supes won't pull the same stunt again? That must've really hurt Clark."

Oh gosh, Chloe was over her head now—in quicksand. She had to somehow scoot around the dangerous topic of the relationship between Supes and Clark. "Don't worry about what happened with Lois. It's a different situation."

"Why?" Lana asked, giving Chloe the look that told her she wasn't backing down.

"Because Clark is obviously confident that you like him just as much as he likes you," Chloe said, hoping that would suffice.

"But Clark still has feelings for Lois as well," Lana said, her voice cracking a little. "You said that yourself at the beginning of the week."

Chloe felt like she was swimming upstream, in a flash flood. "Forget about what I said. I doubt the name Lois has entered Clark's mind since the moment he met you."

Lana's face went dark. "Chloe, I wish that was true. But Clark sent Lois flowers less than two hours after we, well, had our little rendezvous in the elevator. I didn't want to say anything, but that's the original reason I decided to reschedule my second date with Clark—because I was afraid that you were right—that it was stupid to get involved with a guy who still had feelings for someone else. Then I decided to take the chance, but only if Clark agreed to go slow so our relationship would be set on a firm foundation. And that way, I also thought I'd be able to get out without getting hurt if I started seeing signs of him going back to Lois, but it's too late now. I already know I'd be completely crushed."

Chloe's jaw had long since been dropped to the floor. "Umm," was all she could say for a moment. "Would you say that again?"

"What part?" Lana asked, confused. "It was painful enough the first time around."

"Just the part about your second date with Clark."

Lana rolled her eyes, as though Chloe needed it repeated because she wasn't listening. "Clark sent Lois flowers to apologize for her misunderstanding our evening together, when we went to the jewelry store and playground. It killed me, because I really thought we were on a _real_ date, not just there because Mr. Olsen forced us to be together. And Clark had acted like he felt the same way. Geez, Chloe, he had almost kissed me that night—I'm sure of it. And five more minutes in that elevator, and I bet Clark and I would be hitched by now. How could he have been so insensitive to me—to send flowers to Lois right after that?"

Again, Chloe seemed like she didn't understand a word Lana had just said. And worse, a huge tear fell from the corner of Lana's eye, that she quickly wiped away. "Okay, Lana. I'm really sorry that he hurt you that badly. I _know_ that he didn't mean to. But that's something you'll have to discuss with him yourself."

Lana gave a wave of her hand, dismissing the notion, but the tears were still coming. "No, it's really not a big deal anymore. I don't know why I'm blubbering over it now. I was okay until I had to re-live the details with you. I can't expect Clark to abandon all the feelings he's had for Lois after knowing me for so little time."

"So . . . did Lois tell you the flowers were from Clark?" Chloe asked.

"No, she read the note aloud, then hid it before she got to the name. I guess she didn't want me to know," Lana said. "Which doesn't make sense, since she's been all too eager to tell me whatever else she wanted to about Clark. Including that he kisses like a fish."

Oh man, she still couldn't believe Lois had said that. "Lana, trust me. Lois doesn't _really_ know how Clark's lips kiss, okay?" Chloe was proud of herself for the careful wording. She knew that Supes' lips weren't quite as full as Clark's, because Lois had complained about them a few times. "But if she didn't tell you the flowers were from Clark, what made you think they were from him?"

Lana pushed her rose-colored gift bag in front of her, to hide her face. "Don't ask. I'm begging you. And if you tell Clark that I know, I'm ripping out your toenails the next time I give you a pedicure."

Right on cue, the man of the hour came strolling in the café door. He walked up to the girls and said, "All right, it's all taken care of. The Man of Steel has the ball in his court now."

Lana peeked up from the bag. Her eyes were still red and Clark's proud face fell to a frown when he saw her. "Lana, don't worry, please," he said, squatting down beside her chair and taking her hand. "Superman spoke to the police chief—a guy he trusts completely—and they'll both watch over the medical examiner, and the results of the autopsies. And Chief Wilson isn't going to rush to Lex's place right away. They're going to try to catch the guy he was talking to on the phone, first, then get him to admit the plan. And Superman told Chief Wilson that _he_ was the one who overheard the call, so you'll never need to get involved."

With that information, Lana's face relaxed. It wasn't the reason she had been crying before Clark showed up, but it didn't matter right then. Chloe could tell how instantly comforted Lana was with Clark beside her.

It was amazing for Chloe to see this girl who had always been so independent, look up to Clark with wide, vulnerable eyes. "Thanks, Clark. I hope you passed along my appreciation to Superman as well."

Clark gave a faint smile. "I did. And he also sends his thanks for trusting him."

The three of them were quiet for a few moments, lost in their own thoughts, then Lana said, "Excuse me while I run to the restroom." Clark pulled out her chair, and Lana grabbed her purse—obviously containing makeup that Chloe was sure she was about to reapply.

When Lana was out of earshot, Clark opened his mouth to say something, but Chloe stopped him. "Don't talk, just listen," she said, catching Clark off guard with her snap. "First things first, Superman has Clark's smile, and his green eyes—how's that for interesting?"

"Holy—" Clark started to say, with a huge grin.

"Not all the time, but enough that it's starting to freak Lana out. So lay off the double-duty for a while."

"But—"

"We don't have time for _buts_," Chloe said, throwing her hand over his mouth. "_Clark Kent_ sent Lois flowers, you idiot. How stupid can you be?"

Chloe would risk the toenails Lana threatened to pluck out if she shared this information, but it was critical.

"What? No I didn't. Supes did."

"Well, you must've left a breadcrumb somewhere, super-dope, because Lana discovered it was you that very same day."

Clark grabbed his head. "Crap! But how? That's why she cancelled our date that night."

"Bingo," Chloe answered. "She wouldn't admit how she found out, but she also gave some truly valid reasons for wanting to take it slow with you, besides the fact that she thinks you still have feelings for Lois and doesn't want to get hurt."

"But I don't. Since I met Lana, anything that was left is totally gone," Clark said. "So, all I have to do is come up with a way to explain the flowers and all this _take it slow_ stuff will go away, right?"

Chloe shook her head. "No, Clark. I would keep things how they are for now. Because you're being patient and giving her the time she needs, she's falling in love with you. Truly in love—that's why she's already starting to see past the Supes mask. Just be patient. You won't regret it."

"Supes has green eyes?" Clark ran his fingers through his hair. "And _my_ smile? Why is that freaking her out? She should be recognizing me, not being afraid of me."

"She's not afraid," Chloe replied. "She thinks she's seeing things, so just be careful so she doesn't get spooked. She can't fall in love all at once, and there's a strong dose of alien hocus-pocus she has to see through. Which is why I think she's only seeing flashes of familiarity here and there."

"Then maybe Supes shouldn't go see her for a while."

"I wouldn't. Not until you're pretty sure she'll be able to figure things out."

Clark nodded. "Geez, I can't believe this is really happening. But you don't think I should say anything about the flowers?"

"Clark, the best way to prove that your feelings for Lois have changed is to show how much you truly care about Lana now," Chloe said, smiling. She was so happy for the two of them that she could burst. Though she knew that, in about half an hour, she would be back to comforting Lois over her breakup with Supes. How screwy was that?

"Lana told me I couldn't kiss her for a month, Chlo! A month!" he said, whispering in case Lana was on her way back from the restroom. "And I'm already dying to."

"Then show your affection in other ways, because after the conversation we just had, it will make her like you even more. She's never had a relationship that started like this, and she's loving it."

"But does she _want_ to kiss me? Will she ever?" Clark asked, acting truly concerned, as if he was worried that Lana thought he had bad breath or something.

"Oh, I think Lana would hogtie you with rope if she gave into what she really wanted to do," Chloe said, glancing over her shoulder as she saw the ladies restroom door open.

Clark gave an embarrassed little laugh. "Well, the rope wouldn't be necessary, but okay."

A few moments later, Lana was back beside them. "I think I've pulled myself back together," she said, adding a third smile to the group. Clark's grin took up half his face. "And my new apartment manager just called. He said my boxes from New York are taking up the lobby, so they came a day earlier than I expected. Would you mind helping me tonight, Clark, instead of tomorrow morning?"

"No problem," he said, his smile somehow getting even larger. Chloe thought his lips would split, if they weren't made of super-skin. "You gonna be okay here, Chlo, while you wait for Lois to pick you up?"

"Yeah, no problem," Chloe answered. "We're supposed to meet here at six-thirty. She said she had an article to finish up at The Planet."

"As always," Clark said, taking Lana's hand. He glanced at the gift bag that still looked unopened.

Lana followed his line of vision. "I've been waiting for a moment on my own, but I'd enjoy it most if you were with me."

Clark nodded. "So would I."

They said goodbye to Chloe, then headed out the door practically wrapped around each other.

"One month. Yeah, right," Chloe said to herself when they were gone. "I'll give them ten minutes once they're alone in that apartment."

Chloe was sitting for a while before she noticed a small slip of paper under her handbag. It was Clark's writing, and said: _By the way, the Rich Boy did it, with poisonous gas, in the penthouse._

She squinted, trying to figure out what Clark was trying to tell her. It was obvious that he was using the format from the game _Clue_—Professor Plum did it, with the gun, in the Library. "Oh, no way!" Lex really was the one who killed Lionel. Chloe shook her head, almost impressed with Lex's ability to turn more evil day by day.

The other thing she wasn't shocked about was how Clark managed to slip her the note. She was now well-accustomed to him going into super-speed without her, or anyone else, realizing it.

But how did Lana get involved in this murder mess? Even with all the talking they did, Chloe hadn't had a chance to ask if she'd heard from Stalker-Lex today.

Looking at her watch, Chloe decided to find out if Lois was still planning to be there in a half an hour. Not only didn't Lois answer her cell, but her phone went straight to voicemail. She had either turned it off, or it was out of battery life. She tried again every few minutes, including her desk phone on the news floor. Finally, after the clock hit seven, Chloe dialed The Daily Planet.

"She left at five," the evening receptionist said.

Five? Chloe looked out the window to see if traffic was bad, but it was flowing just fine. Lois finally showed up twenty minutes later, with her hair a total mess.

"Hey! Sorry I'm late," she said. "That article was a beast."

"Yeah," Chloe said, giving her a hug and noticing an unfamiliar scent. It was only unfamiliar on Lois though—a guy Chloe once dated wore the cologne. She pulled back and looked at Lois' shirt. "Since when do you wear grungy guy shirts, Lois?"

"Huh?" Lois answered, glancing down. "Oh, yeah—this. I spilled coffee all over my blouse at work, and didn't have time to run home. One of the photographers had an extra shirt in his car he let me borrow."

Something in her voice sounded oddly out of place. Then Chloe noticed that the t-shirt was also on backward. What was going on? "Don't you have a suitcase full of clothes in your trunk for our trip?"

Lois paused, then hit her head, all dingy like. "I didn't even think of that! Duh." She grabbed Chloe's hand and started for the café door. "Let's get out of here, we're wasting precious spa time."

Yep, Lois was wasting time all right—wasting her time _lying_ to Chloe. It was obvious that Lois had just been with a guy, but who? At least Chloe had all weekend to get it out of her.

And, wow, so much for being brokenhearted over Supes.

**Chapter 18**

_- Uptown Metropolis - Lana's New Apartment -_

Clark had been in Lois' apartment countless times, but rarely as himself. Something felt so different about it without Lois. Besides the fact that it was much quieter, it was also more warm and homey.

Lana walked through the apartment with a smile on her face, but it wasn't until she stepped out onto the large balcony that she took a deep breath of the fresh night air, and said, "Oh, yeah. I'm gonna love this place. I can't even imagine how much it would be to lease a jewel like this in Manhattan."

Clark stepped up behind her, wanting to slide his arms around her waist, and nestle against her, but he didn't feel like he should. Lana had been right, things were much safer during the daylight hours, and in public. He felt like he didn't have many restrictions, besides the obvious ones, during their lunch dates. But now, oh man, if he didn't keep his hands to himself things would spin out of control quickly. That was something he was sure of.

Lana turned around and faced him. "Clark, have you ever seen anything so beautiful? This view is breathtaking."

"Yeah, it is," Clark said, studying her moonlit face. "And no, I've never even come close to seeing anything so beautiful."

It took her a moment, then she tipped her head and smiled. "You're flirting again."

"I'm trying my best not to."

"Well, let's get the rest of the boxes upstairs, I'm anxious to open my gift bag," Lana said, taking Clark's hand. "Which I should've done earlier, now that you seem to be having second thoughts about giving it to me."

"No, it's not that," Clark said, but really, he _was_ having second thoughts. After his talk with Chloe, about Superman taking a hiatus, he wasn't sure how Lana would receive the gift. "I just want a little time to talk about it—without you thinking about the boxes in the lobby."

"Oh," Lana said, squinting. "And for some reason, we didn't need to _talk about it_ earlier in the day, when you gave me the gift at work?"

Clark grabbed her sides. "So many questions. Do you ever stop?" he asked, both of them laughing as they went back inside.

"No, I don't," Lana said. "What's your shirt size, Clark? What's your favorite food, Clark? What's your blood type, Clark? . . . " She went on and on—just to tease him as they made their way back to the lobby in the elevator. He tried to keep up with the questions as fast as she was asking them—only skipping the question about his blood type (Umm . . . Kryptonian).

Soon, they were just in a jumble of words flying back and forth, trying to stump the other with the rapid fire of questions and answers. "Not bad," Lana said at last. "And that's the first time we've actually been in an elevator together since Tuesday that I didn't have my eye on the emergency stop button."

"Oh, this thing?" Clark said, reaching out for the large red button just as the elevator was starting to slow. 

Lana grabbed his hand. "Not here! The alarm at The Daily Planet doesn't work, but this is a new building. They'd probably fetch Superman to get us out."

"Yeah, that might be awkward," Clark said with a grin.

Lana glanced away. "Yeah, probably."

They were both silent as they walked over for the remaining boxes. Clark piled them onto a dolly, and they headed back to the elevator.

"Okay, I don't deal with awkward silence very well, so I'm just gonna tackle this issue straight on," Clark said, trying to shake off his nerves. "Which is even harder for me than dealing with awkward silence."

Lana pushed the button for floor 18, eyeing Clark with a sideways glance. "What issue?"

"The issue with the big S on his chest," Clark said. "I sent him back last night because I thought you had fun flying the first time, but now Supes said you seemed uncomfortable being with him. So, anyway, if you misunderstood something—believe me, we both feel stupid about it."

"You shouldn't," Lana said, moving closer and making Clark's heart pound. "I've just been wondering if you were trying to dish me off to your buddy. It would be one thing if you were there hanging out with us, but it feels awkward without you."

Oh crap. What was he supposed to say to that? _Ignore it_, he told himself quickly. "Lana, not only wouldn't I ever _dish you off_ to someone else, there's no way on Earth I'm letting anyone else near you. Not unless you wanted it that way."

Lana slid her hands up Clark's arms. "Then I guess you're stuck with me."

With the dolly stacked with boxes in the middle of the elevator, there was little room to move. Oh, well. Clark wrapped himself around Lana and whispered against her neck. "I sure hope so."

She absolutely melted into him, holding on just as tightly, and tipping her head to the side as a pretty big hint of what she wanted him to do. Clark wasn't thinking of any of the "taking it slow" nonsense, he was moving his lips closer to the soft skin on her neck, unable to stop himself.

And he especially wasn't thinking of how he had his backside, along with all his and Lana's weight, against the elevator doors. If there was a warning bell that the doors were about to open, neither one of them heard it.

Bam! The doors had opened and Clark fell flat on his back into the hallway, with Lana on top of him. It took them a moment to realize what happened, then they both started laughing.

"So much for avoiding delicate situations," Lana said, staying right where she was. "Are you all right?"

"Couldn't be better," Clark said with a smile. Forget heat-vision, his entire body felt like it was about to catch on fire.

"Miss Lang," a voice said, standing above them. "I don't know how things were at your last apartment building, but this is a respectable place. There's a reason we have doors—with locks! Now go use one!"

Lana looked up cautiously to see a man standing above her. "Oh, hi there, Mr. umm . . . "

"Barnacle. The apartment manager," the man answered. "And I recognized your name on the boxes in the elevator, otherwise I would've just called the police and had you hauled out of here."

"Sorry!" Clark said, just then noticing that his feet were getting slammed over and over again by the elevator doors. "It won't happen again." _Not in the hall anyway._

Mr. Barnacle stepped over Clark's feet, into the elevator. Clark sat, hurrying to help Lana off him. Once they were both upright, Mr. Barnacle wheeled the dolly out of the elevator with a crusty scowl on his face. "That's your first warning, Miss Lang."

Lana swallowed as the elevator doors closed and swept the old man away.

Both Clark and Lana stood there, stunned. "I've never got in so much trouble in my life as I have with you," Lana said. "I wonder how many warnings he'll give me."

"Whatever the number, I'm sure we'll use up every one of them," Clark said. "Which could be kinda fun."

"Definitely," Lana said, putting her hands on his hips and pulling him closer. "In a month—well, twenty-seven days from now."

Clark smiled, when he actually felt like crying. "You should quit this journalism thing and go into the business of cruel and unusual punishment."

Lana tipped her head. "You know, I've thought of that."

Right then, a door around the corner from them—near Lana's apartment, opened and a woman was heard yelling, "She was here again, wasn't she?"

"Oh, c'mon!" came a deeper voice.

Clark and Lana both opened their eyes wide. "Somebody's in trouble," Lana whispered. 

They snuck over to the corner and took a peek. "It's your neighbor," Clark said, trying not to laugh. He'd met the guy a few times and had pegged him to be a total player—apparently, he was right. "I think his name is Travis."

"Good to know. I'll put him on my _People to Avoid_ list," Lana said.

The woman, who looked to be in her mid-twenties like they were, continued her rage. She was half-way out the door, waving something pink as she screamed. "Who else wears a shirt that says—_So what if I'm a B--ch? Deal with it!"_

Lana gasped, and Clark's heart took a one-way trip to his feet. Lois wore that shirt to work today—he should've recognized the annoying hot-pink color the screaming woman was waving around.

Lana's hand slowly slipped from her mouth. "Lois was cheating on Superman," she said, her words barely audible. "That must've been why he broke up with her."

"No, it wasn't. I guarantee he didn't know."

"But how couldn't he?" Lana asked, looking up with sad eyes.

"Because he's too naive to suspect anything like that," Clark said. _And much too stupid_.

Lana held onto Clark's arm. "Gosh, you must really feel torn. They're both your friends. Are you going to say anything?"

"To which one?" Clark asked, still listening to the gory details the woman was relaying—how it had been going on for more than a year. And the woman finally confirmed their guess by calling Lois by name. Geez. Clark felt like such an idiot.

"To either."

"They've already broken up, so I don't see a reason to."

Lana nodded. "Unless Supes shows signs of going back to her."

Clark looked into Lana's eyes. "There's absolutely no chance of that. Even without knowing Lois was cheating. She's already betrayed him in worse ways."

"With her articles?"

"Among other things."

"Oh," was all Lana said.

It surprised Clark that he didn't feel an ounce of pain inside him—yeah, he was extremely ticked off at Lois, but still, it just didn't hurt like he had imagined something like this hurting.

They waited out the next few minutes until the woman stormed past them and waited for the elevator. Clark rolled the dolly down the hall and into Lana's apartment.

They both looked at the pile of boxes and sighed. "My gosh, I had no idea I was such a packrat until I boxed up this stuff," Lana said.

"Well, it's mostly in storage in Smallville, but you should see all the junk I've collected over the years."

"I'd like to," Lana replied with a smile. "Between what you've told me about growing up, and what Chloe has said about her life in Smallville, it sure seems like I missed out on a lot of adventure."

"Adventure you can live without, trust me," Clark said, thinking of all the crazy stuff Lana could've got involved in had she lived there. Who knows if she would've made it out of that place alive—it seemed like half his graduating class hadn't. To this day he couldn't figure out why the FBI hadn't investigated Smallville, with all its unexplained deaths, especially of high school kids.

But he wasn't complaining, seeing as how Clark was almost always involved one way or another. It would be difficult to explain _all_ of it away with his good old standbys—_it was just a coincidence_, or the lamest one of all . . . _I guess I had a surge of adrenaline._ Even Clark knew how absurd his answers were, so he couldn't figure out why no one else ever pointed that out.

"Still," Lana said with a smile. "I'd love to go there sometime."

With that, Clark pulled completely out of his freak-of-the week flashbacks. "You would? Because I wanted to ask if . . . okay, well, you might think this is a bit soon, but the 4th of July is on a Friday, and I have that day off, so if you can manage to skip out, too, then we can go to Smallville for the entire weekend. They have a really cool night of fireworks every year."

Clark had said it all so quickly, he wondered if Lana understood a single word. He also wondered if she had enough time to calculate when that would be . . . a few days shy of their month deadline.

"Sounds perfect," Lana said. "And maybe, you know, umm . . . " she rolled her eyes. "Well, it's not like I'll be able to resist you a full month anyway."

Clark raised a brow. "So, now we're down from twenty-seven to twenty-four days? Just like that?"

"Time flies, huh?"

"Not nearly fast enough, but I'll take it."

Lana grabbed her gift bag and sat on one of the largest boxes. "Now that we've settled that, are you gonna let me open this?"

"Sure," Clark said, having made a promise to himself that he wouldn't hesitate when she asked. He'd looked stupid enough by making her put it off.

Sitting side by side on the box, Lana removed the tissue from the bag and immediately started laughing. "Hair accessories?" she said, pulling out a small container of scrunchies, followed by a collection of hair combs, barrettes and clips. "I don't know if you meant this to be a joke, Clark, but these are actually really nice, and just what I need!"

Clark smiled. "Well, it _was_ kind of a joke, but there's more."

"I can see that," Lana said, digging deeper into the bag. She pulled out a tall bottle, then read the label. "Detangling spray?"

"Well, I figured it was my fault that you said your hair was tangled in knots," Clark said, running his fingers through the length of her locks. "Though I haven't noticed any."

Lana closed her eyes, leaning into the touch of his hand. "Maybe you should search a little longer."

"If you let me do that, I can guarantee you'll end up with messy hair."

She looked like she didn't care at the moment, then sighed. "Well, you better at least offer me a rain check."

"I'll do more than that. I'll make you a promise."

"That's even better," Lana said, reaching back into the bag for what she thought was the last item. She smiled, holding the card in her hand. "Will it embarrass you if I read this right now?"

Clark shook his head.

Lana opened the envelope, and read, "You've made me believe a man can fly." She looked at him, her eyes glistening, and said, "You can be my super-man any day, Clark."

He smiled. "That's good to know."

"And though I appreciate all the hair accessories so I can _fly the friendly skies_ with that other guy, I think I might be taking a break from it for a while," Lana said, looking a bit hesitant.

Clark nodded. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about—which we kinda started in the elevator, but you know . . . "

"We got carried away with other things," she said. "As always."

"Yeah," he said with a heavy sigh, the thrill of the moment surging back through him. "But hey, that was kinda fun crashing through the elevator door."

"You know, I seem to have fun with you no matter what I'm doing."

"I just hope we can continue to escape being arrested," he said, laughing. Then he peeked back into the gift bag. "And you missed something here at the bottom."

Lana squinted. "Really?" She felt around the bottom of the bag and pulled out what she thought had just been more tissue. But there was something inside it. Carefully unwrapping the tissue, she gasped. "No way! How did you find this?" she said, holding out her favorite clip she lost that first night of flying with Supes.

"It wasn't in the lake after all—just in a tree in Metropolis Park."

She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "But still."

Clark shrugged. "Well, I have good eyesight."

**Chapter 19**

_- Uptown Metropolis – Lana's New Apartment -_

Clark found himself having such unusual thoughts whenever he was with Lana. As he helped hang her clothing in the closet, he couldn't help but think how _feminine_ Lana was. Not girly, but feminine in the sexiest way he could imagine. She didn't have to show a lot of skin to look hot, the curves of Lana's body spoke for themselves. But it was always obvious that she wasn't trying to get a lot of attention, it just happened.

And it was happening in great measure tonight, that was for sure. Clark super-speed-scanned her enough times to feel like a total creep for it. There was one time though, that he turned from the closet and caught Lana looking at his butt. He smiled and laughed it off, not wanting to embarrass her, but then it happened again and she snapped her head up, with bright pink cheeks.

"What are you looking at?" Clark asked her with a teasing smile.

"Umm," Lana said, turning the color of red-hot fire now. "Your belt."

"My _belt_?"

"Yeah, it's nice. Very nice," she said, stepping to his side and taking a plastic hanger from him. "What did you think I was looking at?"

"Oh, gosh, I don't know," Clark said. "Certainly not my butt, because proper ladies like you only think of flowers and pink teddy bears."

Lana laughed, whacking his backside with the hanger. "Is that right?" she asked. "Then you have a very bad influence on me, because I've found myself thinking much more scandalous things than that this week."

"Like?" Clark asked with a smirk.

"Like things that are none of your business, so get back to work," she said, grabbing a blue baby tee from a box and holding it up for him. Then she put it right against his chest. "You look good in that."

Clark held it up, noticing the size. "Well, one of my arms might fit. That's about all."

"I meant the color, you dork," Lana said, taking the shirt away and hanging it up. "I love it when you wear blue. And black." She turned back and shocked Clark by lifting up his shirt, exposing his abs. "Flesh definitely doesn't look bad either."

Clark took a deep breath as her hand traced his skin. "You're not playing fair," he said.

Lana gave him a sultry smile. "I'm just having some fun."

He didn't want to sound the least bit patronizing, but _had_ to say something. "Well, you're playing a very dangerous game then. Unless you want me to forget about the next twenty-four days that I've promised to behave myself."

"No," Lana said, shaking her head, but with a bit of reluctance. "I just didn't realize that, well, that little things like that, you know, umm . . . "

"Start a fire in me that isn't easy to put out," he said. Then without warning he grabbed her by the waist and trailed his lips down her neck. "Probably how this makes you feel."

Lana's knees gave out and he held her more tightly against him, becoming more passionate—and it was definitely easy. She turned her head toward him, as if waiting for his lips to meet hers, but Clark used all his inner strength to step away.

Lana looked up to him, desperate for more as they both struggled to catch their breath. 

"That's how I feel whenever you so much as step in the same room with me, Lana," he said, backing away. "And I can handle holding hands, and a bit more—but that's it. It's _really_ hard for me to stay in control when—"

"When I'm begging you for it, while at the same time asking for space?" Lana said, covering her face. "Got it."

"All right, so I'll just be out on the balcony, cooling off, while you, uhh . . . "

"Get a very cold glass of water," Lana said, smiling.

"Make that two, please," Clark said, heading toward the balcony.

When he got out there, he tried to focus on something else besides Lana's incredibly delicious skin he'd been caressing. He laughed at himself for having had the courage to do what he did, and couldn't believe he'd been able to back away, but there was really no other way of showing Lana how out of control she made him feel when she came onto him like that. It was torture! He knew she didn't _really_ want him to take the bait.

Clark's cell rang, and he answered, again hoping something could tear his thoughts away from the tempting little vixen dancing in his mind.

"Clark," Chloe said, sounding like she was in a hurry. She was also whispering. "Are you still with Lana?"

"I'm alone for the moment, what's wrong?"

"Okay, don't ask me why, but I need you to find out what types of cologne Lois' neighbor Travis has—_DON'T ask, I'm serious!_ Just do it."

Yep, the phone call sure cooled him off in a hurry. "It's not necessary, Chloe."

"Yes it is, just do it—quick. I'm only supposed to be using the ladies room," Chloe said.

Clark could tell her the whole story about what he and Lana had discovered, but Chloe didn't have time for it. "Okay, hold on," he said, facing Lana's living room and x-raying through it, across the hall and into Travis' apartment. In scanning for the bathroom, he found another one of Lois' shirts—this one under his bed—nice, and also a pair of flip flops under his couch that she'd been complaining about missing for a while now. Then he got to the medicine cabinet.

"Looks like Travis is a fan of Calvin Klein's _Escape_,"Clark told Chloe.

"I knew it!" she said. "Clark, I can't explain right now, but we need to have a serious talk when I get back."

"I already know about Lois," Clark said.

"What? When? How?"

"Short version—Travis has two of her shirts, a pair of flip flops, and a pretty ticked off girlfriend to prove it."

"Oh, that lying, cheating, tramp!" Chloe said. "I'm gonna kill her!" Then she went on in a mumbling rant, something like, "_I'm sooooooooo sad, Chloe. Help me get Superman back, Chloe. I cannnnnnnnnnn't live without him, Chloe. That bit—_"

"Calm down there, super-pal," Clark said, hushing as he saw Lana approaching the balcony door with two tall glasses of ice water. "I know you're ticked for my sake, but I'm really okay about it."

"For your sake? Get over yourself, Clark! She's been lying to us _both!_"

"Seriously, just drop it, okay?" he said. "I've gotta go." Lana had just seen that he was on his cell and stopped short of opening the patio door.

Clark rushed over to get the door for Lana, signaling that he wasn't trying to hide the conversation from her.

"You've _got to go?_" asked Chloe, sounding like she was about to explode, like a boiling volcano of lava. "This is a serious betrayal, Clark!"

Wow, Chloe would really hit the roof if she knew about the tell-all book Lois had been writing.

"She cheated on Superman, not you. So chill out," he said. Lana was on the balcony now, and he took a glass from her and said thanks.

"Is Lana with you now?" Chloe asked, whispering again.

"Talk to you tomorrow, Chlo," Clark said. "Have fun." He'd said it with a tone of humor, and Chloe huffed at him and hung up.

Clark chugged the water down as if he hadn't had liquid in a year. "Ahh, much better."

"Did you tell Chloe about the conversation we overheard?" Lana asked.

"I didn't really have to," Clark said. "She called, asking me to check out Travis, and I told her it wasn't necessary—we already knew what was going on."

"I just can't believe Lois would be so unfaithful," Lana said, taking a sip of water. "Not that I know her well, but I've spent enough time with Supes to see what an amazing guy he is. And I just don't get why Lois would take the chance of losing someone like him."

Clark was flattered, but Lana sounded so sincere that it made a list of urgent questions race around in his mind. And this was a perfect time to ask them, he hoped.

"I wonder if it had anything to do with him being a superhero, you know?" Clark asked, sitting in a soft patio chair. "Maybe Lois didn't want to be with someone who she had to share with the world."

Lana shrugged, sitting in the chair next to him. "I'm sure Supes is really busy, but how is his life any different from the life of a soldier, who has to leave his family behind to fight for the rights of others? And protect them from danger? Military wives have to make the same sacrifice—sometimes the ultimate one, to share their husbands with the world."

Clark was in a dead stare. "I've never thought of that."

"And a doctor's wife also has to put up with her husband being called into work at all hours of the day and night—interrupting plans, and missing birthdays and so forth," Lana said. "So I don't see how a woman in Superman's life would have to be any more patient and understanding than those types of dedicated women."

Clark grabbed his glass, filled only with ice now, and tipped it back to get whatever else he could. His mouth felt like a desert of sand and sagebrush. Lana laughed and handed him her drink, and he gulped it half down. He would've kept going but didn't want to be rude.

"Okay, so," Clark said, shaking his head with squinted eyes, "what you're saying is that you really don't think it would be that big of a deal . . . well, it _would_ be a big deal, but that you . . . or umm, someone else . . . could actually handle being with a guy like Supes?"

Now it was Lana's turn to squint.

Clark hurried to correct his mistake. "I'm not trying to 'dish you off' to Supes. I'm just curious, because he's pretty worried about the relationship side of his future."

Lana smiled. "Oh, okay. So, now you're his therapist?"

Clark shrugged. "Who else would he go to?"

"True," Lana said. "I guess there aren't enough superheroes in the world yet to start a support group. _Heroes-anonymous_, I suppose they could call it."

"Exactly," Clark said, laughing, but actually thinking it wasn't such a bad idea. "I'm sure they'd have plenty of crazy stuff to talk about."

Lana nodded. "So what else does Superman worry about, concerning relationships, that is?"

"Well, I think the biggest obstacle he feels someone would have to overcome is how _different_ he is," Clark said. "You know, there's a lot that comes along with his abilities."

"Like?"

Clark swallowed. "Like, he wasn't born on this Earth, so . . . "

"Technically, he isn't _human_," Lana said, surprising Clark that it rolled off her tongue so casually. "I've thought of that."

"You have?" Clark asked, nervous. "Then you've probably realized that, well, he looks the same as regular guys on the outside, right . . . and he, umm, also looks like them under the suit too. So he's not _really_ made of steel. He's just like a human man, but with super strong muscles and indestructible skin. Other than that . . . oh, and a few more things like heat vision, ice-breath, x-ray eyes . . . that stuff—he's _normal_."

Lana laughed. "Yep, pretty much. I wasn't sure about the 'under the suit' stuff, but thanks for the info."

"So, that doesn't creep you out? That's he's an . . . alien?" Clark asked, willing his mouth to say the words without sounding suspicious.

Lana tipped her head like he'd insulted her—as if he was calling her prejudiced. "Clark, I just think it's cool that he's exposed all this alien-invasion hype as the nonsense that it is. Geez, if we were invaded by more _Supermen_, we'd have a pretty darn safe planet, don't you think? It's not like he has big beady eyes and two antennas. As humans, we've just made really stupid guesses of what someone from a different planet would look like. I think it's pretty cool that a great mystery has been solved."

Of all the times Clark thought he would blast to a million pieces if he didn't kiss Lana, this was by far the most difficult moment of all for him to sit still.

He took a deep breath and smiled, _knowing_ for the first time in his life that he was in love.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 20**

_- The Daily Planet News Floor -_

Lana and Lois had been roommates for over two weeks before the first real problem arose. And Perry White was to blame for it. He was causing Lana more stress than she dared admit to anyone, including Clark. White had called both Lois and Lana into his office one afternoon to announce that the broadcasting division of The Daily Planet needed a reporter to fill in for the community events section of the afternoon news, while the regular broadcaster was on a short leave of absence. They wanted a 'pretty girl,' someone who would bring in the mood of summer and encourage people to become involved in the community. 

Lois was quick to volunteer, though she said it had better lead to something better than community events. Lana brought up the point that Lois really would be better, since she was so much more familiar with Metropolis and its people. But White said he'd been asked to send two choices to the broadcasting floor, so they both had to go, regardless of Lana's inexperience in the city.

It turned out that Lana being a newcomer was just what the powers that be adored most about her. They loved the excitement in her eyes when she discovered something new that the city had to offer. By the next afternoon, Lana was live on Channel Five—talking up the City Arts Festival in Metropolis Park.

She was an amazing success to say the least. The Daily Planet's phones were ringing nonstop with praise for Lana's flair for live broadcasts. Many commented on her eyes and sparkling smile, and even more on her smart, informative style of reporting. Lana herself was blown away by the warm response her short tidbit received.

And Lois? She was just plain ticked off—she'd been bugging the broadcast floor for years now, asking them to give her a chance. Lana couldn't figure out why they hadn't, since she was so great at coming up with quick responses in nearly any situation. Even if it was an obvious lie.

Mornings in the shared bathroom were getting chillier by the day between the two roommates. Today, Lana had gotten up an hour earlier, just to avoid Lois. Leaving much sooner than usual, with nothing to do other than go to The Daily Planet and start working, Lana grabbed some bagels and juice, and headed to Clark's apartment.

She'd only been there once before, during a lunch date, but had no trouble at all finding the place. It was a really cool apartment, with private access to the roof of the building. She couldn't wait until they could use that roof to stargaze—one of her favorite activities. Of course, she could hardly wait for a lot of things that were just around the corner.

Lana knocked on Clark's door, softly at first in case he was still sleeping. Guys had the great advantage of practically rolling out of bed, into the shower, then into their cars. Clark had even admitted to Lana that he had a bad habit of shaving in bed most mornings. For some reason, Lana even found that attractive. There wasn't a single thing that bothered her about Clark, other than just not having enough of him.

Clark answered his apartment door, with sleepy eyes—which popped right open. His weren't the only eyes that popped.

"Umm, Clark," Lana said, forcing her attention to her bag of bagels. "Do you always answer the door in your boxers?"

Clark cursed, then shut the door—at last truly waking up. He peeked out this time and said, "Does it count against me if I was sleep walking?"

Lana smiled. "Jump back in bed. I'll give you sixty seconds."

He took off, and Lana started counting. When she entered his bedroom, she found that he'd covered himself in blankets up to his chin. As if that wasn't enough, the stupid grin on his face made Lana totally crack up.

"You'll need your arms to eat," Lana said, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. "I may adore you, but I'm not about to hand feed you!"

"Dang!" Clark said, throwing off the blankets to reveal that he had changed into a t-shirt and sweat pants.

Lana frowned. "Dang is right."

She dug into the bagel bag, asking which flavor Clark wanted first. "I'll take blueberry," he said, seeing that it was already toasted and slathered with cream cheese, exactly how he liked it.

Lana handed over the blueberry bagel, then turned for the juice. "Do you have a tray of some sort? I'd hate for you to get crumbs in your bed." She looked back to find that Clark had taken a big bite and already had plenty of crumbs on his shirt. "Sorry I didn't think of that sooner."

"Nope, no trays," Clark said, hurrying to swallow before he spoke. "To be honest, I don't think I've _ever_ had breakfast in bed. Not even when I was a kid."

"Oh, that's sad. Breakfast in bed is one of the finest luxuries in life," Lana said, then laughed as she looked over the situation. "Though I'll admit that it's rather soon for us to be taking this step."

"Yeah, I'd say. Before we've even kissed."

Lana got a sneaky smile on her face, then leaned over and surprised Clark with a soft kiss on his cheek. "There. Now it doesn't feel a bit strange."

Clark kinda melted into a puddle, sliding further down the headboard he was leaning against. "And because nights are still off limits for another week, and since you became Metropolis' favorite person to drool over on the afternoon news—making our lunch dates into short fifteen minute meetings in the break room—then breakfast looks like our only option."

"For now, at least," Lana said, feeling just as disappointed as Clark looked over their decreased time together the past three days since she'd been doing the afternoon broadcasts. Lana ran her fingers through Clark's already very messy hair. "I've really missed being with you these last few days."

"You have?" Clark asked, closing his eyes and smiling at her touch.

"A lot," Lana said, scooting closer. _Okay, Lana, calm down. You're gonna drive the poor guy crazy if you aren't careful._ She'd been so good at staying behind certain lines to keep things in check the past couple of weeks, ever since that night Clark helped her move in. But now, she felt so . . . weak . . . looking at him in a way that she wouldn't mind doing the rest of her life—with bed head and an unshaven face. She cleared her throat, wanting to say so much more than she was about to. "Clark, I was hoping we could spend this Saturday together, to make up for lost time."

Clark opened his eyes, which were sparkling with excitement. Then they went dull as his smile faded. "Oh, man. I can't—any other day but that one. How about Sunday?"

"Sunday is out for me," Lana said, feeling like an elephant had trampled her. "I agreed to do an all day broadcast from the City Barbeque Cook-off."

They both released long, heavy breaths—full of frustration.

"Then breakfast it is—tomorrow, and Friday morning as well," Clark said, obviously forcing a smile. "My place or yours?"

Lana tipped her head, like _duh_.

"Oh, yeah. Stupid question," Clark said, with the words, _I forgot about Lois,_ practically flashing across his forehead. "See you here tomorrow morning—I'll even cook."

Nodding, Lana gathered up what was left of her breakfast and gave Clark's hair one more run through with her fingers—which she enjoyed just as much as he did. "You better get ready, or you'll be late."

Clark thanked Lana for breakfast, then she left with somewhat mixed feelings. She was falling head over heels in love with him, she knew she was—which both excited her and made her want to scream in panic. Was Clark ready for her to feel this strongly? Did he truly feel the same way, or was he still nursing a broken, rejected heart?

How could he ever have feelings for Lois after knowing that she cheated on Superman? But sometimes, Lois would drop the smallest of hints that dug into Lana's skin . . . hints suggesting that Clark still liked her. It was so tacky—and _so_ Lois, that Lana knew she should ignore the faint suggestions, but Lois had succeeded more than once at driving those wedges of doubt deep into Lana's heart.

She wished she had the courage to ask Clark about his feelings for Lois, even if he only had them in the past—but the timing just didn't seem right.

And there was one more question bothering Lana at the moment. Clark had said his Saturday was booked up. What the heck was he doing? And why hadn't he been more specific?

Lana had a busy day ahead of her, so she hoped those burning questions would fade from her mind so she could get some work done. And her night would be just as crazy—just as her other nights had been the past couple of weeks.

She'd made two important purchases in that time—a police scanner, to track major crimes and emergencies in progress, and a zippy new Mini Cooper (which she'd discovered Clark didn't fit too well in) that she used to race to the scene of the incident, hoping to catch Superman in action.

No, Lana didn't want to speak to him—the opposite in fact. She did everything she could to go undetected. She was spying on him, to gather as much positive information as she could to report back to Perry White, who was still insistent that she dig up some dirt on Supes.

And now, Lana was in for another long night, of chasing him down and watching the valiant hero in action. As exciting as it was, however, she'd trade every moment for a quiet night of stargazing with Clark Kent.

**Chapter 21**

_- Downtown Metropolis -_

Lois had been desperate for several days now to discover what that sneaky Lana Lang was up to. Lois would often be sitting in the living room at night, working on her laptop, when she'd hear some muffled sounds that she was sure had to be coming from a police scanner. Sometimes it would take a couple of hours, but Lana would eventually turn off the noise, grab her keys and summer jacket, then head out the door as casually as possible.

The curiosity would end tonight, Lois decided. She was convinced that Lana was chasing a big front page story, and Lois wouldn't let her have it. She had worked too hard to get where she was and wasn't about to give up her position as White's favorite _go-to-girl_ to a chick who walked in only a few weeks ago—one who wrote the obituaries, no less!

Nope. Whatever story Lana was chasing would become Lois' by the end of the night. So, when evening came around, Lois was hiding in her car in their apartment parking garage, waiting for Lana to appear. She'd almost given up just after ten, when Lana strutted to her car, looking as perfect as usual. Lois waited as long as she felt she could, then followed Lana to a parking lot, where she got out and snuck around the corner of a building.

When Lois found her own place to hide, she discovered that Lana was watching a man who was about to jump from the ledge of a building. Squad cars were below the guy, with an officer calling through a megaphone—attempting to calm him. 

Lana looked terrified, and for a moment Lois almost felt bad for her—but then she kind of snickered, thinking about this innocent girl who was _way_ out of her league trying to be an investigative reporter if things as minor as this brought her to tears.

Yeah, it was a guy's life, and it was sad that he was desperate enough to want to end it, but Lois had seen much worse situations than this, where more than one life was at stake. Lana had some serious growing up to do if _this_ made her shudder.

"Where is he?" Lois heard Lana say, in a tone of desperation. She was looking around in the sky . . . searching for . . .

Lois squinted, her stomach twisting. _Superman . . . who else?_ As the next few minutes passed, Lois put the puzzle pieces together. Lana had a police scanner, which wasn't new for a reporter—but she was primarily over obituaries, so unless she was chasing ambulances to see if she'd have a new client in the morning, she had to be using the scanner for some other purpose. And Lois was sure she now knew what it was—she was hunting Supes. 

Lois had used that trick herself when she first started investigating Superman, then she had turned to the more intimate tactic of actually dating him.

"That bit--!" Lois said under her breath, following it up with several thoughts of how she planned to get Lana back for trying to steal the story of the century away from her. How dare Lana prance into Metropolis thinking she could actually be the one to discover who Superman was? Especially when she was well aware that Lois, who knew Supes better than anyone, couldn't manage it.

As Lois' ears were blowing hot steam, she saw a wave of red fabric behind the man on the ledge—then the rest of Supes came into view. He grabbed the man, just as the jumper took a step forward, but nevertheless, they both went off the ledge—with the man screaming like a siren. Just before the ground, Supes put on the air-brakes and hovered above the surface with the terrified man securely in his arms.

He landed softly, in front of the officers, and began to speak to them in calm, reassuring words. Lois watched Lana fold her arms, with a scowl on her face. She stood where she was for a few minutes more, as Supes continued to talk with both the depressed man, as well as the officers—then Lana huffed, and came out of hiding, walking straight toward the cluster of people.

Lois followed, but stayed in the shadows, just close enough that she could hear what was happening. Supes looked up with a confused little smirk when he saw Lana approaching, which really made Lois' blood boil since it was obvious that he already knew her. And Lana hadn't said a word to Lois about meeting him, which meant she was obviously trying to hide it.

Lois was ready to scratch and hiss her way into the ultimate cat fight. Why was Lana huffing and scowling anyway—had Superman stood her up just as he had Lois? Were they dating behind Lois' back? And even worse—was Lana the reason that Supes broke up with her?

That _had_ to be the reason—it wasn't because of the book at all. Lana had moved to Metropolis at exactly the same time that Supes ditched Lois!

_AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!_ This meant war! 

After a long string of cursing, Lois realized that the best way to get back at both of them was already in play—going after Clark Kent. She'd previously planned this anyway to make Superman jealous—starting with her all day outing with Clark tomorrow. Of course she'd had to be a little dramatic when she begged Clark to go with her to the military base for her father's wedding, but hey, a girl had to do what a girl had to do. Now her blubbering over how she needed a friend along to help her deal with her father getting remarried would pay off big time.

_Oh yeah, Miss Lang, you are gonna regret the day you ever tried to cross Lois Lane. Going for Supes was the biggest mistake of your life_, Lois thought with a snarl. Especially since Lois planned to let Clark in on Lana's little two-timing secret—blowing their perfect fairytale, love at first sight, romance.

**Chapter 22**

_- Downtown Metropolis -_

Superman panicked when he saw the peculiar look on Lana's face. His first thought was that she had seen through his disguise and wasn't happy about it. He almost super-sped out of the situation as quickly as possible, but when Lana got close enough, all she said was, "Can I speak with you when you're finished?"

Supes nodded, then reassured the man he had just saved that the officers would get him the help he needed. The officers thanked him, then all turned their heads to Lana with wide eyes. Supes smiled at them and said, "Sorry, guys. A friend of mine already has dibs on her."

"Oh, of course," came a few muffled replies, the officers looking around innocently. 

Superman followed Lana back to her car in an empty parking lot. She was silent the entire way, which made him all the more nervous. If she had recognized him for real this time as Clark Kent, and was reacting this way, he had no idea what to say to calm her down.

Lana finally turned toward him and said, "Got here just in the nick of time tonight, didn't ya, Supes? I thought that guy was a goner."

Superman's shoulders fell forward—with relief that she wasn't upset over what he had thought, but also because she was misjudging him. "I was talking with the guy for nearly two hours—some nuts are harder to crack than others. Sorry I disappointed you."

Lana shook her head, as if she hadn't heard him right. "Two hours? I was at the scene for only half that time, watching the skies for you to swoop in and save the day—"

"I was about ten feet behind him that whole time. But I doubt you could see me until I stepped closer to grab him when I realized he wasn't listening to a word I said," Supes replied. "But if you get too close, you risk the chance of making the jumper . . . well, more _jumpy_."

The hard stare on Lana's face had turned to the humble smile of an embarrassed child. "I'm sorry. Like you said, I didn't see you and I was worried that you wouldn't make it on time . . . you know, like you usually do."

Superman was standing quite a distance from Lana, nearly in the shadows so she wouldn't freak out again if she saw an unsettling resemblance between him and Clark. This time it could be a familiar dimple or arch of his eyebrows that scared her.

If it wasn't such a serious thing for Clark, he would laugh about how funny it was that she was seeing through the disguise only one feature at time. But as Chloe had said, people don't fall in love all at once.

"Weren't you the one who said I can't be expected to save _everyone_?" Superman asked her. "What if I wouldn't have made it on time . . . or what if the guy decides to do the exact same thing tomorrow night, or the next? Should I feel obligated to baby sit him, twenty-four-seven?"

Lana stood there dumbfounded for a few moments, then she shrugged. "You're right. I totally overreacted. It's just that . . . " she trailed off, biting her lip as she avoided eye contact.

"What?"

She glanced back with hesitation. "Well, I've been watching you these past couple weeks, nearly every night, and you've had a perfect record so far. There's trouble, you come, you fix the problem, everyone cheers . . . and that's it . . . there's nothing for Metropolis to worry about with you around. I guess I've already become a bit too used to that, so when I didn't see you right away, I worried that you might not come at all . . . like maybe you had taken the night off or something."

It seemed like Lana was trying to back-paddle herself out of a muddy river of silly explanations. But Supes had a bigger thought weighing on his mind. "What do you mean, you've been _watching_ me? Why?"

Lana fiddled with her hands as he came closer. "Do I need to tell you right now, or can it wait a while longer?"

Supes folded his arms over his broad chest. "I'm not sure. Is it important for me to know?"

"Well, umm . . . possibly," she said. "Or at least, eventually."

"Oh, all right," Supes said, feeling more of Clark creep up inside him than he usually allowed while he was in the suit. "Maybe I can guess."

Lana put a hand on her hip, a bit of a smile appearing. "It wouldn't be too difficult."

"Normally, I'd jump to the conclusion that you were stalking me to discover my secret identity," Supes said. "But we've already gone down that path, and you claimed that you didn't have any interest at all in finding out who I was. Is that still true?"

Lana tipped her head. "To be honest, I'm certainly a lot more curious than I was, but I don't plan to do any investigating into that part of your life."

Supes nodded. "That's what I thought. So, let's see, what other reason might you have for tracking me down?" He rubbed his chin, in playful thought. "You've lost your keys and need my x-ray vision?"

Lana jingled the car keys in her hand. "Nope."

"After just two times, you're completely addicted to the thrill of flying and need more air time?"

"Well, yes . . . I loved it, but that's not—"

He cut her off, rubbing his hands together. "Good, because I'm saving your next trip for a special occasion." Before Lana could get another word out, he raced ahead, "So, if it's neither of those things, then I'd have to guess that your microwave went out and you need my heat vision to make some popcorn."

She laughed. "No! But can you really do that?"

Supes smiled. "I can do _a lot_ of things with my abilities that have no lifesaving purpose whatsoever."

"Good to know," she said, then waved her hand in dismissal. "Well, not that I'd ever want to take advantage of you, or anything."

"I wouldn't mind," he said. "We're friends aren't we?"

"Yeah, I guess we are," Lana answered, first with a big grin, then tacking on a cough of discomfort.

Supes had just realized the way he was looking at her—through Clark's eyes, not a superhero's. Then, when she backed away, he noticed his biggest mistake of all . . . he had affectionately run his hand down her arm—the way Clark does.

"I better go. I'll explain the whole _following you around_ thing another time," she said, turning her back to him and moving toward her car.

"Lana," Supes called. "I'm the last person who would ever want to mess things up between you and Clark. I think you're perfect for one another."

She stopped walking, but kept her back to him. "Then why—"

Supes cleared his throat, stopping her from asking too much. "Just like you need to save your own explanation for a better time, I need to save my excuses for another time as well."

Lana faced him, stepping closer. "You don't need to give me excuses, you just need to understand that Clark is the guy I've always been looking for. And not even a superhero could steal my attention away from him."

Swallowing, Supes nearly tipped over. "So you're not upset that he's going with Lois tomorrow? Because he thought you might've been when he explained the situation to you earlier."

That morning, Clark and Lana had finally had a brief discussion about what he was up to on Saturday, and it hadn't gone as smoothly as Clark hoped it would.

Lana's eyes dropped. "Well, I have to admit that I was caught off guard. But he said it wasn't a date, so," she shrugged, "you know, we haven't agreed to be exclusive anyway, so I couldn't really say anything if it was . . . a date, I mean."

"Yes you could, because as far as Clark's concerned, he's as good as taken . . . when you're ready for that," Supes said, trying hard to mask his personal attachment, but he was sure that he was failing miserably. "What I'm saying is that he's anxious to make things more formal between the two of you, because you're the only woman he ever thinks of, and he's already certain that will never change."

Lana looked up at last, with a soft smile. "Thanks, I really needed to hear that tonight."

Supes smiled back, wanting to kiss her so badly that he about did it despite the suit . . . despite the fact that there was still some time left on their agreement.

After several moments of silence, Lana said, "I haven't had the chance to truly thank you for helping out the day I met with Lex Luthor. I appreciate what you did, including keeping my name out of it."

"No problem," Supes said, both disappointed and relieved that the conversation had turned back to business. "The investigation is going well. The police have one of Luthor's henchmen in custody, and he's already given them details of the murder plot against Lionel. And they have another on the verge of talking. They think this second guy will turn against Lex, and become an inside informant."

"Why can't they arrest Lex with what evidence they already have?" Lana asked.

Supes shook his head. "It's hard to explain the influence that the Luthor name has in this city. This all has to be done very carefully, or we'll lose any chance of getting Lex behind bars where he belongs."

"So he's practically a mob boss?"

"Pretty close," Supes answered. "He has more connections than an international airport."

Lana laughed. "How would you know anything about airports? It's not like you'd ever need to use one."

"Not now . . . not as Superman, at least," he answered. "But I haven't always been able to fly. And I've only been doing it on a regular basis for about five years now."

"Really? For some reason I thought all your powers came with you to Earth."

He shook his head. "I only had my strength when I arrived. The rest of my abilities have developed . . . well, kind of like puberty. To be honest, it's been a long drawn-out teenage hell."

"Ouch," she said, smiling. "Was super-acne included?"

He laughed. "No! Thank heaven my skin is zit proof!"

"Wow, if we could all be that lucky," she said. "Are you still gaining new powers then?"

"Oh yeah," he said. "And I have no idea when they'll stop coming. Just recently, I acquired a really strange one. I have no idea how I'll use it, but it's pretty cool. Want to see?"

She nodded with eagerness.

Supes cleared his throat, then began speaking in Perry White's voice. "Miss Lang, I need a front page news story from you on my desk in ten minutes—just whip something up off the top of your head. Maybe on the nuclear missile crisis in Iran, or a simpler theme of stem cell research. Got that? Now get to work!"

Lana's jaw had nearly dropped to the asphalt of the parking lot. "That's crazy. Almost creepy—I mean, not in a terrifying way, but . . . geez, that wasn't just impersonation, it was like Perry White was _really_ speaking to me. I guess that makes your new power _super-ventriloquism_."

"Cool. You just gave it a name."

She smiled. "Glad I could help." After a few moments of them just smiling at one another, Lana squinted and raised up on the tips of her toes. "Okay, this is a strange question, but what color are your eyes?"

Supes realized he was now standing in the perfect light of a street lamp. "Umm, well, what color do they look?"

She shook her head, examining his eyes even closer. He didn't know whether he should back away or not . . . maybe this could be the moment. Perhaps she was already fully in love with him, enough to see through everything right then. 

"Sometimes they seem to be blue, and other times they're green . . . like right now," she said, looking bewildered. "So which is it?"

"Well, it depends on who's looking at them," was all he said, determined to remain as honest as he could.

She laughed, taking a step back. "That doesn't make a bit of sense."

He smiled, gently taking her car keys from her hand, then walking around her and opening the car door. "Maybe not right now, but it will . . . soon."

Lana studied him over her shoulder as she sat in the seat and took her keys. "Supes, you _are_ from a different planet. Just a hint . . . Earth women like straight answers," she said with a playful smirk. "Does your hair change color too?"

"That's another answer you'll need to discover on your own," he said, closing the door and waving as he flew off into the air.

- - -

By Monday morning, Clark was having anger management issues. He wanted to crush Lois into a tiny ball and hurl her into space.

Saturday was a disaster. What Lois had promised wasn't a date turned out to be some of the most awkward moments of Clark's life. At her father's wedding, Lois had introduced Clark to several people as, among other affectionate titles, her _closest friend_.

The real problem was that when she said it, she wrapped her arm in his and looked up with adoring eyes. Everyone cooed over them, whispering things as they walked away . . . along the lines of, "It's so nice to see Lois finally settling down, even if it's not with Superman."

"Umm, what are you doing!" Clark had finally asked her.

Lois had smiled and replied. "Can't a girl wake up and realize what a great guy you are?"

Despite Clark's cold reaction, she continued to be as sweet as a Twinkie. She wasn't particularly forward—or clingy, just nice . . . which was all the more annoying. What was she up to?

What was worse, Clark had no idea what lies Lois was feeding Lana about Saturday. Clark had left several messages Sunday, but hadn't received a return call from Lana. He had watched her faithfully throughout the day on television, tempted to go downtown to see her in action, but being the chicken he was, he feared the worst—that Lois had somehow twisted the truth of Saturday's happenings and scared Lana off for good.

Monday morning, as bad as it was, became even worse when Clark was on his way to Perry White's office and overheard a conversation between two secretaries. "Did you hear what happened to Lana this morning?" one asked.

"No. What?" the other answered.

"When she entered the building, Josh McGavin was at the entrance with this huge bouquet of flowers for her."

"Josh McGavin! The quarterback for the Metropolis Sharks?"

"Yes! And he asked her out! He saw her on TV and said she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on."

"Oh my—" On and on, the two ladies went, but Clark had heard enough.

He forgot all about the question he had for Perry White, and slumped back to his desk. He put his face in his hands, resting his elbows on the desktop, and thought about telling White he was sick—which wasn't a lie—so he could go home and wallow in the mud of self-pity.

How could this girl so easily slip away from him? Her feelings seemed so genuine, and he knew that his were. But now . . . Josh McGavin? Geez, he was last year's Superbowl MVP. How could Clark compete with that? Even as Superman, he'd have stiff competition.

Clark would never cheer for the stupid Sharks again. That creep! Coming in and stealing Lana right out of Clark's arms . . . well, less than a week from being in his arms.

He barely heard the ding of his Instant Messenger, but finally looked up to his computer screen, expecting his day to get even worse . . . but how could it?

LLang: Why do you look so sad today? I tried to call you back last night, but your phone went straight to voice mail.  
_CKent: _Dang! I just checked my cell, the battery is dead. Probably because I called you so many times yesterday. Sorry.  
LLang: I'm glad you did. You're my favorite stalker   
_CKent: _I hear I'm not the only one.  
LLang: Oh?  
_CKent: _Ummmmm …… just heard you have a hot date.  
LLang: Are you asking me out?  
_CKent: _I wish.  
LLang: Stop wishing and do it. I turned that _other guy_ down this morning. I said I had plans with someone else tonight . . . long term plans   
_CKent: _With who? ; )  
LLang: With Clark Kent, you dork. Now get over here and ask me out. I don't want him to find out that I lied.  
_CKent: _For tonight? As in after the sun goes down . . . four days ahead of schedule?  
LLang: Can you handle it:p  
_CKent: _Probably not.   
LLang: Sounds fun!  
_CKent: _Are you purposefully leading me into temptation?  
LLang: How did you guess?  
_CKent: _It's in your nature. It was Eve who gave Adam the apple, wasn't it?  
LLang: Do you like apples?  
_CKent: _Yes, but I'd take any fruit you tempted me with 

Lang: Then, as I ALREADY TOLD YOU … get over here.  
_CKent: _-runs-

Clark did just as he promised in his IM . . . he practically ran over to the other side of his cubicle. He found Lana there, typing away like she wasn't expecting him. Then a sweet smile crept across her face and she said, "Took you long enough."

"What—three seconds?" he said.

"That's three seconds too long."

Clark grinned, then leaned over her shoulder and whispered. "Missed me that much this weekend?"

"More. Much more."

"I missed you, too. It was about the crappiest weekend I can remember."

Lana paused, keeping her eyes on her computer screen. "That's not what I heard."

Clark's gut twisted. He looked around to see a handful of people peeking around their cubicles, being the nosy reporters that they were. He got down on one knee, close to Lana's side, so he could make sure their conversation remained private. "Lana, I really don't know what's going on with Lois. I don't know why she's so desperate that she's lying about things that she knows will hurt me . . . and you as well. I can't figure it out."

Lana still didn't look at him. "I'm trying to ignore her, but it's hard."

With all the doubt Lois was planting in Lana's heart, Clark couldn't believe that Lana had turned down a date with one of _People's Sexiest Men Alive_—Josh McGavin. If for no other reason, it would've been a good way to get back at Clark for going with Lois that weekend.

He was so stupid! Why had he even bothered to do a _favor_ for Lois after what she'd done to him? It didn't make a difference that it was Superman that she had cheated on or written a tell-all book about, her true colors had been revealed to Clark Kent as well. Sometimes being a nice guy really hurt this over-trusting farm boy.

Clark grabbed Lana's chair and spun her around to face him. He was still on his knee, and took her hands in his, looking up with sincere eyes. "Lana, I'm crazy about you. I'm sorry you're mixed up in this, but I hope I can make it up to you tonight." She smiled, then he continued. "Will you—"

Clark was cut off by a big slap on his back, and a loud, "WHOOO HOOOO! That's my boy!"

He turned to see Mr. Olsen towering above him. Lana also looked up with stunned eyes.

"Everyone! Your attention please!" Mr. Olsen shouted, his hands high in the air. "Clark Kent has just asked Lana Lang to marry him!"

The enormous news floor became as silent as a crypt . . . all except for Mr. Olsen's clapping and exuberant jumping around.

Clark and Lana both turned bright red, then started laughing. "That's twice now that Mr. Olsen has betrothed us."

Clark smiled, tempted to say that he hoped to make the move on his own someday. Instead, he stood to see half the room staring at him with wide eyes. "Actually, I only asked her out for dinner. So, you can all go back to work now."

One of the shocked faces staring him down belonged to Lois. He wanted to stick his tongue out and blow a raspberry at her, but Mr. Olsen was tugging on him.

"Dinner? What a let down!" Mr. Olsen said. "Miss Lang must've been expecting much more, with you down on one knee like that."

"No, really, Mr. Olsen," Lana said, standing beside Clark. "Dinner is exactly what I was hoping for."

Mr. Olsen's frown instantly disappeared. "Well, it better not be tonight, because you two already have plans."

"We do?" Clark and Lana both asked at once.

"Yes! With my wife and me," Mr. Olsen answered, grabbing them both by a shoulder and grinning from ear to ear. "We're all going to the opera—so dress appropriately. You do own a tux, I assume, Mr. Kent?"

"Uhh . . ."

Mr. Olsen whipped out his wallet and gave Clark two hundred dollars. "Go rent one." Then he fished around a bit more in his wallet and handed Lana a business card that said, _Versace_ at the top, then listed the manager's name and contact info. "Call this number, Miss Lang, and tell her I sent you. Use the code words, 'Make Me Pretty,' and the manager will know what to do."

Lana had the same response as Clark. "Uhh . . . "

Mr. Olsen just laughed. "The code words will tell her that the use of a dress and accessories should be charged to me. But you must use those exact words! Give it a shot." He nudged her.

She coughed, then with hesitation, said, "Make me pretty."

"Nice job! Got it on the first try," Mr. Olsen said. "We'll meet for supper at the Crooner's Club at six sharp, then it's off to the opera. Don't be a moment late!" He rushed away with his usual skip of utter glee.

"So much for a nice, romantic night alone," Clark said.

Lana glanced up with a tender smile. "At least we'll be together," she said. "_And_ I get to wear Versace!"

"Ver-what?"

She laughed. "You'll see."

**Chapter 23**

_- Uptown Metropolis -_

Versace never looked so good on a body, and Lana knew it by the way Clark's jaw dropped when she opened the door. Lois had left the apartment with a twisted scowl on her face the moment Lana emerged from her room looking like a supermodel. And thank heaven, because Lana didn't want a single thing to dampen this evening, it was sure to be magical.

Magical and utterly tempting, she thought, looking Clark over in his gorgeous black tux. Maybe they didn't need to go out after all . . . perhaps she could just grab hold of his lapels—tug him inside and bolt the door for the next few days.

With a grin on her shining face, thinking of the possibilities, Lana finally said, "Wow. You look like you've stepped out of a magazine, Clark."

Clark swallowed, tried to speak, then laughed and cleared his croaky throat and tried again. "And you look like you've just stepped out of heaven. You're absolutely beautiful, Lana." She smiled and he sighed, his eyes sweeping over the red flowing satin, clinging to her figure like icing on a cake. "I'm afraid to touch you—like I might break something."

Lana stepped right up to him and took his hands, placing them just below her waist. "And I feel like if you _don't_ touch me, I'll shatter into a million pieces."

Clark slid his hands to the small of her back, making Lana close her eyes in bliss. She felt so sexy in the dress, more than she'd ever felt in her life. She leaned into Clark, unable to resist the overpowering pull between them. Her barrier of resistance was completely gone, and she wanted him to know that she was perfectly fine with moving forward that very night . . . whenever natural instincts took over.

Which of course, didn't take much, since their passion had long since reached the boiling point.

She tipped her head, inviting Clark down to her soft skin, then shivered when his lips opened against her bare shoulder. She held onto him tightly, for the strength to stand . . . to breathe . . . as he made his way closer to her neck, up the side, then just below her ear. Her skin was burning for more, her heart pounding—

"What are you two? Professional exhibitionists?" came the gruff voice of the building manager, from behind Clark.

Clark spun around in the doorway, taking his eyes and hands off Lana just long enough for her to quickly step back in surprise—right on the train of the long flowing dress—lose her balance, and fall flat on her butt. In Versace.

Clark ignored the building manager, rushing to help a humiliated Lana from the floor.

The manager cleared his throat. "Again, Miss Lang, doors were invented for a reason. _USE ONE!_ That's warning number two!"

By the time the lovebirds had cleared their heads and were both vertical, the manager was gone . . . and so was the moment.

Lana grabbed the train of the dress, scared to even look. "At least I didn't rip the dress with these ridiculous stilettos!" She showed Clark the sharp pointed heels she was wearing—a good excuse for losing her balance. Well, she could blame the shoes, but the fall was more likely the fault of the very weak knees she had in the moment before her bottom met the floor.

"Now that I've officially swept you off your feet," Clark said with a grin, "are you hungry?"

She looked up with disappointed eyes. "Starving," she said, glancing at his lips. _How could I have ever wanted to delay this? Stupid girl!_

- - -

Mr. Olsen jumped out of his seat when he saw Clark and Lana enter the dining area of the Crooner's Club. A waiter nearly tripped over the chair Mr. Olsen had knocked over, but he didn't notice, rushing over to introduce them to the full room of twenty more couples.

"Ladies and gentlemen, these are my dear, _dear_ friends, Mr. Clark Kent, and Miss Lana Lang—star reporters for The Daily Planet, and the most adorable couple you'll ever meet," said Mr. Olsen, receiving smiles and nods of approval. "They've nearly been engaged twice now, so perhaps tonight is the night . . . if Mr. Kent here can gather the courage."

"Oh James, for heaven's sake, don't embarrass them!" came a sweet, but demanding voice from the table Mr. Olsen had abandoned.

Mr. Olsen rushed back to his wife, pulling her chair out and assisting her as she stood. "Patty, dearest sugar pie, these are the Kent's—Clark and Lana," he said, having obviously missed his wife's request not to embarrass them.

Mrs. Olsen beamed a bright smile as she shook Clark's hand, then turned to Lana and said, "Dear girl, you must be the most warm-hearted woman on the planet—writing that obituary about James' mother the way you did—brilliant piece of literature!" She hugged Lana, whispering the next part in her ear. "Would've been nearly impossible if you'd known her. Darling woman, but completely nuts!"

Lana smiled, pretending she hadn't heard the last part. "So nice to meet you. Thank you for inviting us."

"Absolutely our pleasure!" said Mr. Olsen, returning to where his chair was still lying on the floor—and bending to sit without a simple glance.

Clark grabbed Mr. Olsen just before he took a tumble over the chair, and set the seat upright with his other hand.

"Good gracious! You saved my life, Kent," Mr. Olsen said with a shocked expression, as though Clark had just rescued him from being tied up on the train tracks. "What dimwit left the chair in that sort of condition?"

"_You_ did, sweetheart," said Mrs. Olsen with a gentle smile as she arranged a napkin on her lap.

Mr. Olsen sat and shook his head at her with twinkling eyes. "Oh, you're such a tease."

Clark and Lana couldn't help but snicker as they settled in around the table, but did their best to hide their amusement.

Mr. Olsen instructed them to order whatever their hearts desired, and when they hesitantly did so, he added a few menu items on top of their requests. "They will also have the Portobello spinach salad, a plate of fresh mozzarella and tomatoes, and a shrimp cocktail—super-sized."

"Super-sized?" asked the waiter, with a raised brow.

Nodding, Mr. Olsen said, "Or Biggie-sized—whatever you call your double portions around here."

The waiter sniffed. "This is a five-star restaurant, we don't _Biggie, or Super-size_ anything."

Mr. Olsen's jaw tightened. "Well you do now, because I happen to own this place," he said, then turned to his wife with a look of uncertainty. "Right, pumpkin? We haven't sold it off, have we?"

Mrs. Olsen continued to search over the menu with her reading glasses on the tip of her nose. "No, sweet pea, it still belongs in your family of fifty or so restaurants."

"My sincerest apologies," said the waiter with an embarrassed nod. He was obviously new and didn't realize whose table he was serving. "I'll rush out a _super-size_ of everything you've requested."

"Wonderful!" Mr. Olsen said, slapping the table. His smile returned as though nothing amiss had happened, completely forgiving the waiter in an instant. "Now for some fun while we wait. I have a special song to sing for you tonight, my pretty Patty," he told his wife.

Lana's eyes widened, like _oh dear_, then she glanced at the stage she had noticed when they entered the dining area. It was very vintage looking, with thick red curtains and gold tassels, and a large crooner-style microphone in the center of the stage.

"Oh, I get it," Lana said. "The _Crooner_ Club . . . it's like a karaoke bar from the forties."

Mr. Olsen laughed. "Karaoke? Goodness no," he said. "What we do here is sing into a microphone as the words from songs pass by on a screen. It's really quite easy."

Mrs. Olsen snickered. "That _is_ karaoke, James dear."

His eyebrows squished together. "How silly. There's absolutely no Japanese at all in these songs. Why would they give it a name like _karaoke_?" He stood without another word and rushed to the stage, which was good because the table was in stitches laughing at him.

Mr. Olsen waved to a man behind a small desk next to the stage. "Hit it."

A tune started that Lana didn't recognize, and she slipped her hand in Clark's, which was resting on his knee.

Mr. Olsen began to sway, transforming himself into a classic forties-style crooner like Sammy Davis Jr., or Tony Bennett. His voice wasn't bad, and surprisingly on key in most places, and the way he looked at his wife as he sang was so amazing, even though it made Lana want to giggle at times. It was like Mrs. Olsen was the only one in the room.

Mr. Olsen put a hand over his chest as he sang his heart out. " . . . Fly me to the moon . . . And let me play among the stars . . . Let me see what Spring is like . . . On Jupiter and Mars . . . In other words, hold my hand . . . In other words, darling kiss me . . . Fill my heart with song . . . And let me sing for evermore . . . You are all I long for . . . All I worship and adore . . . In other words, please be true . . . In other words, I love you."

He finished to great applause, and Lana said, "That was the sweetest thing I've ever seen."

Clark shifted in his chair. "I'm afraid that _my_ singing would have the opposite effect on you."

"Nonsense! Now get on up there and prove how much you love this girl," Mr. Olsen said, slapping Clark on the back.

Clark coughed, unable to find words. "No really, I . . . " he coughed again, " . . . see, I don't even have a voice right now."

"Nice try," Mr. Olsen said, laughing and tugging Clark's chair from under him. "Up! Up!"

Clark's face was as red as the stage curtains, and went even brighter as the room started a warm applause for him. 

Lana began pleading on his behalf, knowing this would absolutely humiliate Clark. Mr. Olsen had gone way too far this time, but she was sure Clark wasn't the type to stand up to him and say, "No freaking way, you nutcase!"

She made the decision in a hurry as Clark dragged his feet to the stage like they were two full-sized Naval anchors. She put her arm in his and said, "How about a duet?"

Clark looked down with absolute fear in his eyes. "How about doing as Mr. Olsen's song suggested, and fly to the moon instead—and stay there?"

He looked half-serious, which made her smile. "You think you could borrow the famous red cape?"

Surprising Lana by smiling back, Clark said, "I'm sure I could work something out."

By the time they were on stage, Clark seemed to ease up a bit. This was so typical of him, trying to keep Mr. Olsen happy, no matter how embarrassing it was for him. Dang, he was a good guy—and looking as hot as a bonfire in his tux, which gave Lana an idea for a song.

"How about Sinatra's _The Way You Look Tonight_?" she asked the man next to the stage. He nodded, pushed a few buttons, and Lana took Clark's hand as the music started.

Clark sang softly at first, trying to find the rhythm of the song, but picked up volume along with Lana as the song started to sound more familiar. "Some day, when I'm awfully low, When the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you . . . And the way you look tonight. Yes you're lovely, with your smile so warm, And your cheeks so soft, There is nothing for me but to love you . . . And the way you look tonight. With each word your tenderness grows, Tearing my fear apart . . . And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, It touches my foolish heart. Lovely . . . Never, ever change. Keep that breathless charm. Won't you please arrange it? 'Cause I love you . . . Just the way you look tonight."

Clark's voice was so sincere and tender by the end, having taken his attention off the words for the last few lines and just staring at Lana. Her eyes had filled with tears, feeling the strength of the lyrics, as if Clark was saying them to her from his own heart.

As the music trailed off, Clark leaned in and gave her a lingering kiss on the cheek. "You're so beautiful, Lana. How was I ever lucky enough to find you?" he whispered, taking her breath away.

Unable to reply, she followed Clark back to the table, where their salads were waiting. Food was the last thing on her mind, however, and she was trying to think of a reasonable excuse for them to leave without upsetting Mr. Olsen. He had already spent nearly a thousand dollars on his guests—who wanted nothing more than to be alone.

No, there just wasn't a courteous way out of the evening, so Lana would have to make the best of it, and enjoy every moment of being with Clark—whether or not their lips were permanently connected.

Mr. Olsen was beaming at the two of them, going on and on about how well they did. "Now you two can have an appreciation for such touching music," he said, shoveling down a fork full of spinach salad. His jovial tone went completely against the desperate pattering of Lana's heart, but she nodded and smiled anyway.

Mr. Olsen continued, "Your generation has such a need for _true_ singers. People your age need to listen to more classically trained artists, rather than these _hippy-hoppy, rappy_ fakes you seem so hooked on . . . like that _Skittles_ fella."

Clark and Lana looked at one another in confusion. "Who?" asked Clark.

Mrs. Olsen back-handed Mr. Olsen's arm. "Good grief, James. For the last time, his name is _Eminem_, not Skittles!"

**Chapter 24**

_- Metropolis Opera House -_

Clark now had a vision of exactly where he would first kiss Lana. It was where he'd always envisioned kissing the first girl he was truly in love with—in his loft in Smallville, after a nice sunset . . . just as the stars began to twinkle. He couldn't get the thought of it out of his head, and he also couldn't imagine their first kiss happening anywhere else.

He had almost given in at Lana's apartment, but was actually glad now that things had happened how they had. He made a promise that he wouldn't kiss Lana until the month was up, and he would stick to it.

Clark had a way to be certain Lana was in love with him . . . she would see through his Superman disguise, but this was one way he could prove to Lana that he truly loved her. By keeping this promise, and thereby showing his commitment to her—that this wasn't just about a physical thrill for him.

Clark was in it for the long run . . . for forever if she'd have him.

They entered the Metropolis Opera house hand in hand, next to Mr. and Mrs. Olsen. Mr. Olsen said hello to everyone they passed . . . most of whom didn't seem to have any idea who he was, but he was greeting them as though they were long-lost relatives.

Clark overheard snippets here and there of what Mrs. Olsen and Lana were talking about as they waited in the foyer for the doors to open.

"You know, Lana," said Mrs. Olsen. "There are always compromises to be made when it comes to the man you marry. You see, James here can be quite a handful at times, but he is _absolutely_ the kindest, most considerate, loyal man on this Earth, and that is worth every moment of silliness I must endure. I adore him with my whole soul."

Lana smiled at her. "I can tell. And I'm sure it's true, that _any_ man comes with a few glitches. It's just a matter of learning what they are, and making a choice—if the qualities you love about them far overshadow their flaws, then they could be the right guy for you."

"That's true, darling," said Mrs. Olsen. "But there are some things you should never compromise on. Selfishness, for one—a habit of thinking of themselves first, either in your relationship, or in society in general. It's a terrible trait that doesn't fade."

Lana nodded. "And dishonesty. I've never been able to tolerate it. Even a little lie really gets on my nerves. It makes me wonder what else the guy is hiding from me."

Clark suddenly felt hollow—like his heart had been ripped from his body. He'd been so careful to never straight out _lie_ to Lana, but omitting the fact that he led a double life as Superman could burn her just as badly in the end.

"And secrets," Lana continued. "If a guy can't share _all_ of his life with me, then I don't want to be a part of _any_ of it."

Clark's knees buckled and he stopped walking—because he couldn't. What was he supposed to do? Should he just tell her right then? Forget about her seeing through the disguise? Should they skip the opera and go for a walk instead . . . where he could hopefully get up the courage to say, _By the way, I'm Superman, so if you want out, now is a good time_.

As Clark debated this, Lana noticed his blank stare as he stood as still as stone in the middle of the foyer. "That's what I like so much about Clark," Lana said to Mrs. Olsen, as she smiled up at Clark. "He's so genuine. Since the moment we met, I've felt like he'll always be someone I can trust."

"Oh yes, and that's terribly hard to come by," said Mrs. Olsen. "So hang onto him with all your might."

Lana laughed, tightening her grip on Clark's arm. "Don't worry, I am. I'm surprised he doesn't have claw marks from my nails being dug into his skin."

Clark took a deep breath, then plastered on a smile. "Umm . . . " was all he could muster.

Both Lana and Mrs. Olsen squinted at him and he knew that meant trouble. Mrs. Olsen gave a little cough, then looked over her shoulder to her husband, who was now eagerly shaking the hands of several people who looked to be more than a bit worried about his exuberance.

"Dear me, James is scaring the daylights out of these poor souls," Mrs. Olsen said. "I better see if I can lasso him back on over here." She rushed away with a cheery smile.

Clark cleared his throat, still being stared at by a curious Lana. "Claw marks are good . . . I mean, I don't have any yet, but uhh, you're free to give them to me." He shifted his weight, shoving his free hand in his pocket.

It would've been just as well, Clark thought, if he had a blinking sign on his head that said, _I have a HUGE secret I'm keeping from you!_

But apparently, Lana had something else on her mind. "Okay, I can tell I just totally scared you to death with all that talk about me digging into your skin. I thought we were, you know . . . " she shook her head, acting like she'd made a fool of herself, "I'm sorry, Clark. I didn't mean it like—"

Clark finally snapped out of it—stupid farm boy style. "No, Lana—that's not it at all. I'm just worried that you're giving me more credit than you should. I never want to disappoint you."

She tipped her head, at last giving a gentle smile. "Don't you think I worry about the same thing?" she whispered. "I'm terrified that you'll discover who I truly am—deep inside—and stop caring for me the way you do."

_Tell me about it!_

"Lana, I'm way past _caring_ for you," Clark said, touching the back of his hand to her soft cheek.

Just as the always-eloquent Mr. Kent was about to say more, Lana's shining eyes were diverted to Clark's side, to a man dressed all in black.

"I guess this explains why Miss Lang gave me the cold shoulder," Lex said, his voice light, but tainted with an obvious dose of poison. "You two must've hooked up in a hurry if my friend Clark here is already past the _caring for you_ stage. It took him years to even start _trusting_ me."

Clark didn't have many options at the moment. He thought it would be safest to play his friendship card, and answer Lana's questions later. "Oh, come on, Lex," he said with a broad smile, slapping him on the back. "That's only because you were a spoiled brat when we met. It wasn't until you began tossing car keys my way that I knew you'd be a good friend to have around."

Lex smiled, but Clark could tell he didn't mean it. It was obviously bugging him that Lana had chosen him—a nothing—over a billionaire. "But if my memory is correct, you never did accept any of those elaborate gifts, did you?"

Clark scratched his head. "Umm, well . . . possibly the private jet, but I can't quite remember."

Lana was looking between the two of them like they were performing at a freak show. Clark couldn't begin to imagine her thoughts . . . and he was afraid to. Boy, he had a lot of explaining to do. Lana knew he had attended Lionel's funeral, but he suspected she thought it was for journalism purposes, not personal, and he hadn't corrected her.

_Big dumb alien_, he told himself.

"Get your filthy, crooked hands off my reporter, Luthor," came Mr. Olsen's voice out of nowhere. "I've warned you to stay away from me, and any of my associates!"

Both Clark and Lana's eyes went wide with shock. Not only was Mr. Olsen speaking like an adult, rather than a crazed lunatic, but he sounded genuinely threatening.

The only reaction he got from Lex was a lazy raised eyebrow. "Good evening to you, too, Mr. Olsen."

"It was, until you showed your ugly mug," Mr. Olsen said, getting right in Lex's face. "And bald head, I might add. Now get lost."

"It's a public place," Lex said, a large man stepping out from behind him. Clark jolted, realizing the man was one of Lex's bodyguards—the very man who had been speaking to the police, on the verge of turning into an informant for them. "I have as much right to be here as you do."

Mr. Olsen sniffed. "You don't even have a date," he said, then looked at the bodyguard. "Unless this is your official _coming out_ party."

The bodyguard groaned, and Lex's face turned red—not from embarrassment, Clark was sure. "Funny, very funny," Lex said. "But I don't believe I'm the one who's been spotted around town in a red feather boa."

Mr. Olsen nearly planted his pointed red nose right into Lex's face. "It was a _souvenir_ from Vegas. And I only wore it for Halloween, you half-wit. Sociable people celebrate holidays, you know. But of course, you'd have to have friends to be _sociable_, and you don't."

Lex was on the verge of laughing. "Is that the best you can do? Last time I believe you called me a _big poo-poo head._"

"Well, I was being much too kind," Mr. Olsen said, not backing off an inch, and looking as though he was about to start throwing punches. Lex's bodyguard inched a bit closer. "But what you really are is a ----------" Mr. Olsen went off with a string of curse words, and Clark was sure that he didn't have the slightest clue of what they meant.

Mrs. Olsen, who had been supporting her husband with a matching scowl on her face—gasped. "James!" she said, tugging on his arm. "That's enough. Don't waste your time on that dung heap!"

"Nor your sterling reputation," Lex said, laughing as more and more people gathered around for the showdown. It was no secret that the Luthors and the Olsens were the biggest family rivalry around. They were always trying to outdo the other, even beyond business deals.

Without another word, Lex turned and walked to the other side of the foyer, and Clark and Lana hurried after the Olsens.

"Wow, that was, umm . . . " Lana began, truly seeming stunned. "Interesting. Starting with the little part about you and Lex being friends."

Here it was. "Okay, yeah . . . I can explain that," Clark said, lowering his voice.

"Chloe already did. A little, anyway," Lana said, surprising Clark. "She said you two were friends in Smallville, but have grown apart. But you were acting a bit too chummy for that back there. It seems like you're still quite comfortable around him. Which makes me feel really stupid for giving you the information I did. I asked you to turn in your own friend, and I would've never done that had I known you two were still close."

Clark looked over his shoulder, which is what he always felt like doing when Lex was around. "Lana, what you told me wasn't in the least bit shocking. I've been aware of Lex's dark side for years now. I keep my distance when I can, but I've had to be careful not to get on his blacklist."

Lana stopped still, and tugged Clark into a corner away from the crowd of people filing past them into the main opera hall. "You're spying on him, aren't you?"

Clark swallowed, knowing he had to tell the truth. And he wanted to. "Yes."

She smiled. "Good," she said, then her lips fell to a soft frown. "It must be difficult, seeing what he's turned into. I'm sure you two were truly friends at one time."

Clark nodded, feeling the empty pit he always felt when he thought of the _old Lex_. "We were. And it's just as hard as it's ever been when I see him—pretending to still be friends, when I know what a true monster he is."

"Well, you're obviously not the only one who sees him as such," Lana said, her hands on Clark's lapels as she looked up at him. "I thought Mr. Olsen was going to turn into a human buzz saw back there."

"Yeah, me too," Clark said, unable to hide a sudden grin. "And it would've been a pretty decent fight to watch."

She laughed. "If it wasn't for Lex's bodyguard, we might've had a lot better entertainment than an opera tonight."

Clark nodded, then leaned in to whisper. "That bodyguard is the guy who's in talks to become an informant for the police."

"Really? Good for him."

They walked hand in hand to the Olsen's private box, where Mr. Olsen was found smiling, with Mrs. Olsen's lips near his ear. They were giggling, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

The opera was _Madame Butterfly_, a beautiful performance of a story that takes place in Japan. An American Naval officer falls for a Japanese girl, then leaves her high and dry. Clark was surprised by how much he enjoyed it, but Mr. Olsen was clearly unhappy. About a half hour before the end, he was weeping so loudly, that Mrs. Olsen leaned over and whispered to Clark, "Oh dear, this always happens at this point. My apologies, but we'll need to leave."

Clark nodded as Mrs. Olsen escorted her husband out of the box, then he looked to Lana with raised brows.

She turned to him with a sneaky smile. "Isn't this the place with the _haunted bathroom_ that Mr. Olsen had you investigate?"

He grabbed her hand. "Come see for yourself."

They left in the middle of an emotional aria, and even with as little experience as Clark had at events such as this, he knew it was rude.

But oh well, he was Superman, he could do what he darn well pleased, especially when it involved having a gorgeous girl hanging on him—even if it was in a men's bathroom. Not exactly romantic, but they'd be alone, and he was dying to get his hands back on that smooth red silk that hugged her tiny waist.

It felt so perfect to have Lana in his arms, like she had always belonged there . . . like she would _always_ be there.

They reached the infamous bathroom, where the Phantom of the Opera—as Mr. Olsen had claimed, resided. Clark quickly scanned to make sure no one was in there. The coast was clear, but Lana still hesitated, laughing.

"I've got an idea," Clark said, going across the hall to a janitor's closet. He opened the door, then pulled out a _Closed for Cleaning_ sign, and put it at the entrance to the restroom.

"Good enough," Lana said, then trekked into the bathroom. The moment she entered, a toilet flushed, then a sink turned on, full blast. She couldn't stop laughing as she went across the length of the long, narrow room. Toilets and sinks burst into action like a bathroom chorus. "Impressive," she said, giving her nod of approval. "Who needs the opera? This place is perfectly on par for a great night of fun."

"Watch this," Clark said, still standing by the entrance. He ran a few steps, then slid the length of the room on his slippery-bottomed dress shoes. As he passed each toilet and sink, they went off in perfect order, like a gigantic "stadium wave" at the Superbowl.

"I doubt I can do that in my stilettos," said Lana, meeting Clark in the center of the room, "but it looks fun."

"It is," Clark said, moving his hands over her waist and bringing her closer. _Keep cool, Clark_, he told himself. _Remember the loft . . . it will be perfect._ Besides how dorky would it be to kiss the girl you loved for the first time in a men's restroom, with no less than ten toilets flushing behind you? "And I'm not going to admit if I did that before—by myself. Because that would be really immature, wouldn't it?"

Lana smiled, returning his advance by moving her hands up his chest. "That's what I like so much about you. You can be innocent and childlike, but at the same time, you're _all_ man."

Clark nearly collapsed at her touch—she took complete control of all his senses and turned him inside out with a desperate craving for more. 

She stood on tiptoes and slipped her fingers through the back of his hair, bringing him down to her lips as she caressed his neck and just below his ear.

Who cared anymore if they were in a bathroom . . . who the hell cared about a sunset, or the loft, or twinkling stars?

He had to kiss her _now_.

The sink Clark and Lana were standing directly in front of started to sputter and spit at an alarming rate, but they hardly noticed . . . not until the faucet blew right off the sink and water gushed out like a geyser—drenching them both.

They were so caught up in the pleasure of passion—their lips just moments from impact, that neither thought to move out of the way until they were soaking wet. And the sink was still spraying them with gallons of water with every delayed second.

Looking to one another in shock, with Lana's hair a dripping mess and hanging in her face, Lana finally screamed. "Oh my gosh! The dress!" She ran across the room as fast as her stilettos could carry her.

Clark grabbed the faucet off the floor, rushed back to the sink, and pretended to twist and turn it back into place. In reality, he was using his heat vision to weld it onto the pipe.

"Can't we get just one freaking moment of peace to make out? Geez!" Lana said, laughing as she wrung water from her previously meticulous hair. "Do we need to make an appointment . . . somewhere that we won't be interrupted?"

That was exactly the reason why Clark had it planned for the loft . . . his place of peace and solitude. "I thought we already had an appointment—this weekend."

Lana smiled and rolled her eyes. "Well, we do, but that doesn't mean you have to keep being such a Boy Scout about it. You kept your promise, Clark, and I'm ready now."

He looked over from the sink, where she was standing a good fifteen feet from him in a soaked- through red satin gown that clung to every curve of her body. The heat vision definitely hadn't been difficult to summon when he had to fix the faucet. He could've melted an arctic glacier with a single glance at the moment.

"Are you sure—" Clark started to ask, then heard a familiar sound that always shot instant adrenaline into his system—a gunshot . . . then another . . . and another.

Lana screamed, and when she opened her eyes, Clark was already at her side with his arms around her. "Get into that last stall, and don't come out until I get you."

The shots had clearly come from the lobby, not far from where they were. Clark had heard the commotion of people starting to leave the opera house just minutes before, so there were sure to be dozens still out there—in open range.

Lana started to move toward the stall on the far side of the room, but tugged on Clark's arm. "What do you mean? You're not going out there!"

He didn't have time to argue. "Please go!" he said, and she did as he asked. 

Clark became Superman in the split second between exiting the bathroom and entering the lobby. What he saw when he got there was sheer panic—a confused crowd running for cover, and screaming. 

The scene cleared, with no gunman in sight, but two men in a motionless heap in the middle of the lobby. Then there was movement—the man on the bottom of the pile began to stir, and Superman hurried to him.

"Mr. Luthor . . . are you all right?" he asked, noticing right then that the man who has half on top of Lex was his bodyguard—and he was shot three times in the back.

Lex nodded, looking at his bodyguard. "He jumped in front of me just in time . . . but . . . he had a bulletproof vest on . . . why is he bleeding?"

Supes carefully rolled the man over, and he coughed. "He's still alive, I need to get him to the hospital."

Superman scooped him up, and sped him to Metropolis Central Hospital, where the man seemed to be clinging to life by only a single thread of hope.

When Supes returned to the scene, the police were just arriving. They began questioning the witnesses, all of which said the shooter was a tall man, dressed all in black with a ski mask over his face.

Then they asked Superman about the bullet wounds. He said that the bullets must've been armor-piercing, because they clearly went through the jacket and well into the bodyguard.

Lex was being interviewed separately, acting shaken and distraught.

Supes saw Lana pop her head out of the restroom, look around, then come running out. "Where's Clark? Is he all right?"

Superman nodded, disappointed that Lana hadn't recognized him this time either. "He's still helping out. Go back the restroom, I'll tell him where you are."

Lana looked at Supes' face for the first time, having been searching the room for Clark. "What did you say?" She squinted.

He cleared his throat. "That I'll, umm, tell him to come get you now."

Lana's face turned bright red—from obvious anger. "Knock it off! Right now! Don't pull that super-ventriloquism thing on me! You're not Clark, and no matter how much you use your abilities to try to look like him, and now _sound_ like him, you're NOT Clark Kent, so stop wasting your time."

Supes stepped back, mortified. "Lana . . . I'm not using my abilities to look and sound like Clark Kent!" He gripped his hair, completely frustrated. "Geez! Women!" He super-sped out the front door, leaving her steaming mad in the lobby.

It took ten minutes for Clark to gather enough fresh air and calmly walk back inside the building. When he found Lana, she was sitting on a step of the grand staircase, looking like Cinderella after just losing her glass slipper. Her mascara was running down her face, and Clark was sure it wasn't just because of the mishap with the sink.

"I'm sorry, Lana," Clark said, sitting next to her. "I didn't mean to leave you alone for that long. Let's get you home so you can dry off."

She continued to stare straight ahead. "Clark, we need to talk." He just nodded, scared of what was coming. "I haven't spoken to you about this for a while, because I know you trust Superman, but he's doing something that's really bothering me. You know he has a new ability, right? To make his voice sound like someone else's?"

Clark gave another nod.

"Well, I think he can imitate more than just voices—because when I see him now, his has your smile, and your green eyes . . . and just tonight, when he spoke to me, he used your voice. It's like he's trying to become _you_, and I don't see any reason for that other than him thinking I'll like him more that way."

Clark couldn't speak, so Lana continued.

"The last thing I want is to come between you two, but I can't keep quiet about it any longer," she said, looking desperate for him to understand. "It's making me crazy, and tonight I couldn't help but blow up at him." She took his hands. "Clark, this past month has been amazing, and even though we've had to have boundaries, I've never felt so close to anyone in my life. You're everything I want, and I don't want anything to mess this up. But I can't expect you to choose between us."

Clark put his hands on both sides of her face. "Lana, if I have to give up every connection I have to Superman to be with you, I'll do it. Just promise me that we won't talk about him again until after this weekend. I'm hoping things will be more clear for both of us by then."

Lana nodded with a faint smile, then leaned against him. "Things are already perfectly clear. I can't live without you."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 25**

_- The Kent Farm -_

Lana was surprised how much Martha Kent already knew about her. Of course, she was a US Senator, so Lana supposed she could've gathered just about any information she wanted. This information, however, was obviously from a much more intimate source. And what Martha spoke of was very flattering.

"Clark's right, Lana," Martha said, as they sat down for lunch on July 4th, having just arrived at the farm. "You must be the most beautiful woman in the entire universe."

Lana laughed, feeling her cheeks warm. "I don't know about that. The universe is enormous, and I imagine the chicks from Venus are pretty hot."

"Seeing as how the planet has an average temperature of nearly 900 degrees Fahrenheit, that's a safe assumption, but I guarantee they couldn't even come close to your beauty," Clark said, putting his hand on Lana's knee and giving it a squeeze. Being very ticklish in that spot, Lana jumped and Clark took note. "Cool, I found another one."

He'd been finding more and more places where she was ticklish—it was sort of a game for him, one that made Lana crazy from his touch. He had found just about every possible way to make her go weak.

Martha raised her eyebrows, seeming surprised that Clark was so forward with Lana. But then she just smiled, looking between the two of them. "What do you have planned for the day?" she asked. "I'll be preparing for tonight's festivities, and probably won't see you until tomorrow morning. I'm usually at the fireworks until well after midnight."

Clark nodded, acting as though he was happy with that possibility. So much privacy sounded pretty darn good to Lana as well.

"I'm planning to take Lana around the farm—show her some of my favorite places," Clark said, looking to Lana for approval.

"Sounds great," Lana answered. "Don't forget that you promised to teach me how to ride a horse."

"That should be fun," Martha said. "You won't be able to take Daisy though. She's pulling a cart full of candy for the parade tonight."

Clark got a funny look on his face, and Martha had one as well. "What about Clancy? Has his leg healed yet?"

Martha shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, but you're stuck with only one horse—Old Henry."

"One horse, huh?" Clark said, trying to hide a smile. "Guess we'll have to share."

_Twist my arm_, Lana almost said, imagining the two of them squished together in a saddle.

They all talked for a while longer, finishing up the delicious lunch Martha had prepared. Then Martha said farewell for the day, giving Clark a smile and wink, and Clark and Lana headed out to the barn.

Clark grabbed a large leather saddle and headed toward one of the horse stalls. "We've had Old Henry since he was a colt—I can't even remember how old I was when we got him, but it seems like he's been around forever. Of course, we used to call him just _Henry_, but my mom renamed him a while ago. He's a good, dependable friend."

Lana raised her hand, a bit nervous to stroke the beast along his side, but Old Henry appeared calm and non-threatening. "He's so gentle," she said. "He doesn't seem a bit scared of me."

Clark smiled as he opened the gate. "Now why would he be scared of you? Maybe he can sense that you've taken a tough guy like me and turned me into someone who would do anything necessary to keep you—including karaoke."

"Yes, even karaoke," Lana said, laughing. "That was definitely a true test of your affection."

Clark threw the saddle onto Old Henry's back, then looked to Lana like he wasn't sure that she believed him. "I can promise you this, _nobody_ else could've made me do it. I was scared to death and was so relieved when you joined me on stage. How did you know that's what I needed?"

Lana placed her hand on Clark's arm, smiling up at him with sincere eyes. "Clark, I always want to be here to support you, even if it means going out of my own comfort zone to ease a burden. I could tell how nervous you were and didn't want you to face the crowd alone."

He stopped tightening the saddle straps and faced her straight on. "The strange thing was, even though I knew my voice would sound just as horrible as ever, the moment you stood beside me, I forgot about what everyone else thought. All I cared about was you, and somehow, I knew you wouldn't mind that I sounded like a duck with laryngitis."

"Oh, come on," Lana said. "Your voice isn't _that_ bad."

Clark leaned over and kissed her forehead. "You're pretty darn cute when you lie."

She slugged him. "I'm not lying."

"Oh yeah?" Clark said, raising a brow. "We'll see about that." He put his hand on his chest and dramatically started belting out lines he remembered from _Madame Butterfly_—but they were all bungled up, and atrociously off-key.

Lana couldn't throw her hand over his mouth fast enough. "Okay, stop! STOP!" she said, giggling. "You're scaring the animals."

"And half of Kansas," Clark said, tickling her until she was backed up against the stall gate.

Lana stopped squirming away from Clark, and pulled him even closer. She raised up on her tiptoes, nestling into his neck and taking in his scent—no cologne, just him—yummy, yummy Clark Kent.

He sighed, obviously enjoying it as much as Lana was, then said, "You make it impossibly difficult for a guy to stick with his romantic plans for the evening."

She smiled against his neck, her lips brushing his skin. "And you make it impossibly hard for a girl to wait that long," she said, wanting to add that she'd been waiting _all week_ for him to kiss her since she gave him the go ahead. _Why_ was he delaying it so long? They had already resisted for a month now!

Clark pulled back, hesitantly, then looked to the opposite side of the barn where some steps led up to a loft. "There's somewhere special I want to take you tonight—a place that means a lot to me."

Lana nodded, getting the hint. "Is that the loft you've told me about? With the gorgeous sunsets?"

"Yep," Clark said. "And after the sunset, there will be a blanket of stars across the sky that will take your breath away."

Lana had a feeling right then, that Clark wasn't planning to take her breath away with just a sunset and stars—the loft had to be where he wanted to kiss her for the first time. How could she be disappointed that he'd planned that well, and wanted the moment to be so special? A night she would never forget.

She could wait . . . just a while longer. After all, it was already after two in the afternoon, so sunset was mere hours away.

"Great, I'm looking forward to it," Lana said, gripping Clark's hand and heading back toward Old Henry, who had almost escaped the barn without them realizing it.

"This horse tends to wander a bit, so we'll have to keep an eye on him," Clark said with a smile, patting Old Henry on the head. He helped Lana get her foot in the stirrup, then hoisted her onto the saddle.

"It's kinda hard to lose a horse when you're sitting on it, isn't it?" Lana said, scooting to the very front on the saddle and trying not to grin too big when Clark swung his leg over the saddle and snuggled up behind her. It was like spooning with him on a couch, something she had imagined all too many times—she wanted to _truly_ be that close to him now—no more imagining.

Clark took the reigns in one hand, and wrapped his other arm around Lana, low on her waist. "You'd be surprised how fast a horse can get away from you," Clark said, urging Old Henry forward. "Especially this one—he's been known to get a little out of control. He's probably bucked off more people than a champion rodeo bull."

Lana stiffened, realizing the enormity of the animal beneath her—she was _so_ far off the ground! "Umm . . . "

Clark handed her the reigns. "Here, give it a try."

She shrieked and threw the leather straps back to him. "No way!"

He laughed. "I was just teasing—he's as mellow as a puddle of water."

Lana elbowed Clark in the ribs. "That was mean!"

"Yeah, I know," Clark said, then whistled and whipped the reigns. "Let's go, boy!" They were suddenly off to a trot, and Clark held Lana tighter against him.

She closed her eyes at first, then slowly started to peek—loving the feeling of the fresh country air blasting against her face and neck. "This is amazing!" she said, realizing the sensation reminded her of flying. Who needed Superman, when she had Clark and his noble steed? "I knew I'd love riding!"

"I was hoping you would," Clark said, finally slowing the horse after they reached a full gallop. Lana was out of breath from screeching during moments of delighted terror. "You ready to take over now?" Clark asked again.

Lana nodded, taking the lead and staying at a slow pace as they explored different sections of the Kent farm. The temperature was unusually cool for a July afternoon. It was perfect—_everything_ was perfect. 

"You must love coming home," Lana said, leaning her head against Clark's chest.

"I've enjoyed it more today than I can ever remember," he answered, running his hands down her bare arms and entwining his fingers with hers. They held the reigns together as they meandered along a small stream, barely needing to guide the horse at all. It was as if Old Henry was on auto pilot, and that was a good thing considering the heat that started passing between Clark and Lana—as usual. "I feel like you belong here with me, Lana. As if you've always been a part of my life in Smallville."

She tipped her head, and Clark brushed her hair off one side of her neck, to the other. "I want to be a part of your life, wherever you are," she said, feeling the rapid pounding of Clark's heart against her back. "It doesn't matter if it's Metropolis or Smallville, _home_ to me is by your side."

Clark's breaths were becoming more and more shallow, along with Lana's. He caressed her neck . . . down to her shoulder, where he gently moved her cap-sleeve just a little lower. 

Lana was on fire, dropping one side of the reigns from her weak shaking hands. "Clark, get me off this horse," she whispered, struggling to find the air to speak.

He didn't hesitate, pulling back on the single leather strap she still held and stopping the horse. He jumped off and Lana brought her leg over the saddle, where Clark held her by the hips as she slid slowly down against him.

Lana's feet hadn't even touched the ground before their mouths found one another, meeting with all the passion they'd been holding back. Without knowing exactly how they got there, they were soon in the long grass beneath an oak tree.

They missed the sunset.

They missed the twinkling stars.

And all of Smallville missed the _real_ fireworks.

For once, Clark and Lana were alone, for an uninterrupted perfect night.

Just as the sun was rising, they came up for air . . . for the first time. Clark kissed Lana's cheek, then looked her in the eyes. "I had this all planned out for the loft, but the night turned out better than I imagined."

She smiled. "We can always spend tonight in the loft, and kiss for the first time all over again."

"More kissing?" he said, brushing his lips against hers. "Oh, yeah. I can definitely go for that."

"I couldn't stop myself, Clark," she said, laughing. "I would've attacked you if you wouldn't have kissed me _right then_!"

"Attacked me, huh?" Clark asked, trying to sound frightened. "Care to demonstrate?"

She was all too happy to, which delayed them another hour or so.

Knowing they better get back before breakfast, Clark and Lana finally sat up . . . laughing when they saw that for ten feet in every direction around them, the grass was completely flattened.

Clark helped Lana stand, then he walked around the oak tree. "Oh no, where's Old Henry?"

Lana's eyes went wide in panic, then she helped Clark scan the surroundings, where there wasn't a single hint of Old Henry anywhere. "How did we lose a HORSE?"

Clark smiled. "I told you it wasn't hard to do," he said, gathering her up in his arms.

She ran her hands down his bare back, then remembered something else that was missing. "Whoops! Where's your shirt?" Besides their shoes, Clark's shirt was the only removed article of clothing during the night, but it was clearly gone.

They even looked high in the tree, since Lana kind of flung it off into space in the heat of the moment. "Well, Clark," Lana finally said. "Does the Kent farm have a lost and found box?"

"Not large enough for a horse," he said, giving her a gentle kiss.

**Chapter 26**

_- The Kent Farm -_

Clark insisted on carrying Lana on his back all the way to the house, despite her worries of wearing him down—especially after a long, pleasantly exhausting night. Even without super powers, Clark was sure he could've made the journey without a single struggle. Not only did Lana barely weigh a hundred pounds, but being in the good mood that he was, he could've hefted a dozen freight trains without taking a single extra breath.

True, his vision of kissing Lana for the first time in the loft had been altered, but for the better, since nerves hadn't come into play when the moment arrived—just impulse and passion . . . and a whole lot of heat.

Oh, and some grass stains—which Clark's mother noticed right away on Lana's khaki capri pants when the lovebirds walked into the barn, searching for Old Henry.

Martha held Clark's ripped red t-shirt in her hands. "My goodness! Good thing I just barely saw Old Henry head into the barn, with this in his mouth. I would've been worried sick wondering what happened to you two if I'd seen him last night."

Just as Clark was about to explain, the best he could, Lana swallowed and spoke. "Mrs. Kent, I, umm, didn't do _that_. I promise," she said, staring at the t-shirt, which looked to have been torn apart by a ravenous tiger.

Martha gave an amused smile. "I wouldn't have thought bad of you if you had, Lana."

Lana tried to smile back, but Clark could tell she was embarrassed about their appearance. With so much grass and weeds in their hair, they looked like they'd been living in the wilderness for a year.

Clark wrapped an arm around Lana and gave her a squeeze. "So, Mom, what's for breakfast? Besides a hearty helping of curious looks from you?"

Martha laughed, passing them as she headed toward the home. "Me, curious? What's there to be curious about?" she said. "By the time you two clean up there will be some hot pancakes on the table."

"Yum," was all Lana said.

Clark waited until his mother was out of sight, then swooped Lana up and set her on a stall rail. "Yum is right," he said, kissing every space of skin he could find.

Lana squirmed and laughed at first, then relaxed in his arms. "Maybe this is a good time to visit the loft," she said, breathless.

"Didn't you get your fill of me last night?"

Her grip on him tightened. "Not even close."

From behind, Old Henry bumped Clark and he nearly dropped Lana over the other side of the rail. "It looks like someone doesn't want to be forgotten about again," Clark said, struggling to get a good hold on Lana. They were both weak and dizzy, and having had zero sleep last night didn't help.

When Clark had finally gotten Lana back on her feet, they gave their half-hearted apologies to the sulky horse and locked him back in the stall. "There. That's for tearing up my favorite shirt," Clark said with a playful smile, patting Old Henry on the head.

Lana laughed. "Last I checked, Clark, you have about ten more that look just like it."

"Yeah, but that was my _lucky_ red t-shirt," Clark asked. "It was removed by my dream girl, and rocketed off into the wild blue yonder."

Smiling, Lana moved her hands up Clark's chest—which was still bare. "Well, in that case, you're gonna have a lot of _lucky_ shirts." She raised up and planted a soft kiss on his lips, then motioned to the loft with her head.

Clark returned the kiss, but said, "Not yet. My plans for last night were pleasantly rearranged, but I want to save _something_ for the sunset."

"_Something_, huh?" she asked with a smirk.

He took her hand and they followed the scent of hot pancakes wafting out from the kitchen window. "Something important—that I wanted to tell you last night, but my mouth was busy. Very busy."

Lana looked and up smiled. "Hate to say this, Clark, but I don't see your mouth having any free time from now until . . . well, forever."

Just before they reached the house, Clark stopped and just stared at her. He ran his fingers through her hair—shining in the early morning sun like copper. 

"What?" Lana asked, seeming puzzled by his sudden seriousness. When he didn't answer, she asked again, "What are you thinking?"

The corner of his lips raised softly. "My _exact_ thoughts?" he answered, and Lana nodded. "Damn, she's beautiful."

Lana sighed, looking at him with her gorgeous, sparkling hazel eyes. "I've never felt more beautiful than when I'm with you. Even with weeds in my hair."

He smiled, envisioning what she'd look like _tomorrow_ morning—he hoped. "Well, tonight you can plan on those weeds being replaced by hay . . . a whole lot of hay."

"Yee haw!" Lana said, with her best country girl imitation. "This loft of yours is sounding better and better."

- - -  
Following breakfast, and getting ready for the day, Clark and Lana cuddled up on the living room couch and took a five hour nap. Martha let them sleep through lunch, later explaining that they needed their rest, since she assumed they'd be awake most of that night as well.

Clark's answer was a cheeky, "I sure hope so," to which he received a stunned look from Martha. He knew what his mom was thinking—that she'd never seen him so happy, or comfortable with a girl. In both cases, she was right. And he couldn't wait to tell Lana that tonight . . . in fact, he planned to tell Lana _a lot_ that night, but just how much he wasn't quite sure yet.

After their nap, Clark and Lana spent the rest of the day playing card games with Martha, giving Lana and Mrs. Kent some time to get to know one another on a more casual level. Clark laughed at how competitive Lana was. She wasn't a dainty little girl who backed away from a challenge. She beat Clark several times, making him overjoyed at the possibility of a lifetime of highly entertaining game nights. He'd grown up watching his parents grow closer with such fun traditions as a married couple. It seemed to keep their relationship fresh—with their friendship being their deepest roots.

Clark had all these thoughts passing through his mind during dinner, as well as the rest of the evening until it was finally time to head to the loft. Lana went out the door first, then Clark turned and whispered to his mom, "The barn is entirely off limits."

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Duh."

Clark truly felt like flying. He wanted to scoop Lana up right there on the front porch and soar into the sky. He was suddenly so anxious for her to know that he was Superman, so they could move on with their lives together. But how would she take it?

Ideally, there wouldn't be a skip in how she felt about him, but realistically, he was sure it would take her some time to adjust to the idea.

So, the question was, should he tell her tonight, and potentially put a damper on their perfect weekend together? Or should he just let this time be all about the two of them—with no superhero alter-ego involved?

Trying to decide the best path to take, Clark took a deep breath just as they reached the barn, then he closed the large doors behind him, fastening the latch. His mind was racing, but not just with serious thoughts.

"Well," Lana said, looking Clark over with a sultry smile, "should we skip the sunset and go straight for the hay?"

"Tempting, very tempting," Clark said, taking Lana's hand and leading her up the stairs to the loft. "But you're gonna have to get romanced the old-fashioned way tonight—by the dimming light of the sun, and the glow of the moon and stars." He smiled then gave a little cough. "_Then_ we'll hit the hay."

Clark showed Lana around his loft, a place that had meant a great deal to him throughout his life, but somehow felt even more significant now that Lana was a part of it.

Standing in front of the large open window, they watched as the sun set. They spoke of the past and present . . . but Clark was more focused on what the future held for them.

"Lana, as far back as I can remember I've stood at this window, wondering if there was someone out there who could make me as happy as you do," Clark said, lifting both her hands in his. "Since we've met, it suddenly seems like everything in the whole world is right—as if I've found perfect peace."

"That's exactly how I feel," Lana said, her eyes glistening. "I can't imagine spending another moment of my life without you."

"You'll never need to," he said, then swallowed and gently took her face in his hands. "I'm in love with you, Lana."

Her smile was that of an angel's. "Clark, I love you. I've felt it building inside me since that very first day. And now, it's a feeling that has entirely taken me over. You're all I think of."

The two of them were in a lover's trance, hearing nothing but one another's words and their own thumping hearts. The world spun around them as their lips met—more tenderly than ever before.

Where their previous kisses had been filled with unquenchable desire, this felt like a first kiss all over again—just as Lana had suggested it would. 

Soft and innocent . . . kisses that could stop the Earth's rotation as all of nature watched in awe.

Clark knew right then that Lana would be his forever. He was absolutely certain that nothing could change the way she felt about him, and he planned to put that theory to the test Monday night when they were back in Metropolis—Superman's home town.

But Smallville belonged to Clark, and this weekend would be all about him, and the woman he'd always dreamed of holding in his arms as he did right then.

Steadily, their passion became deeper and Lana gripped Clark's shirt, walking backward as she pulled him to the corner of the loft. "I believe you promised me a roll in the hay," she said, smiling.

"Then that was my mistake," Clark said, lowing her into the soft pile of hay. "What I meant to promise you was the world."

She kissed below his ear, then his cheek, and finally his lips. "You've already given it to me."

**Chapter 27**

_- Clark's Apartment - Downtown Metropolis -_

Lana was so nervous that her hands were shaking as she pulled into the parking garage of Clark's apartment Monday night. She told herself to settle down, but couldn't help but be curious about Clark's behavior that day at work. Their weekend in Smallville had been absolutely perfect, with every moment filled with comfort and a feeling that they would always be together.

But Monday morning, when Lana went to Clark's desk to say good morning, he had asked her if he could make her dinner at his place tonight, rather than going out as they had planned.

That sounded even better than going out, but it was the strained look on Clark's face that made Lana worry. At lunch he had tried to explain more, but as Lana replayed his words in her mind as she now sat in her car, she couldn't for the life of her put the puzzle pieces together.

At lunch Clark had said, "Lana, I hope you truly believe everything I told you this weekend—that I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you." Lana had smiled, feeling his sincerity and the warmth of his arms around her. Then Clark continued, "And I know that you feel the same way about me, I know it with all my heart. Which is why it's time for you to know the full truth about . . . well, everything."

It was at that point that Lana's heart stopped. What was left to know about Clark? They seemed to have already shared every single moment of their lives. They had been so open with one another—discussing all their relationships, their childhood, their trials of the past, their fears . . . and their hopes for the future. What else could their be?

If she didn't know Clark so well, especially after this weekend, she could think of some pretty crazy possibilities, but as it was, Lana was stumped. That's what was making her _so_ nervous. It was also strange that Clark hadn't offered to pick her up, as he usually did, but asked that she drive herself over.

Lana finally stopped her car and fiddled with the keys for another five minutes, trying to gain the courage to get out and face the issue, whatever it was.

As she took the apartment elevator, she recalled some other strange clues Clark dropped earlier that day. He had asked, "What was my first physical feature that caught your attention?" _Your smile_, had been Lana's instant answer. "And the next?" Clark asked. _Your eyes—I love your eyes,_ she replied. And then Clark had said something even more peculiar, "Then just a couple of weeks ago, you said how much my voice comforted you, right?" She nodded, unsure of where Clark was going with his random thoughts. Then he had given her a soft lingering kiss and said, "Please think about those things today, all right? When you come for dinner, that should help make some sense of what we need to talk about."

How could Lana help but think of anything else for the rest of the day? Was Clark the one who was now concerned about their physical relationship going too fast? She knew the heat had been off the temperature charts this weekend between them, but they'd already talked about that, and were both perfectly comfortable.

So _what_ could this curious discussion be about?

She stood in front of his door, took a deep breath, then was about to knock when she noticed a small note taped to the knob. It said, "If the florists hadn't run out of roses, I would've had enough petals to match the number of times you've made me smile. Oh well, I think I only came about a million short . . . follow the path."

Lana couldn't help but smile, despite her anxiousness. She slowly opened to door and found a literal red carpet of rose petals leading from the apartment entrance, through Clark's living room, and up the steep stairs which led to the roof of the building—what Clark considered to be his 'city loft.'

By the time Lana reached the roof, lit beautifully with glowing candles against the dark sky, she was so overwhelmed by Clark's sweet gesture of affection that her eyes were blurry from tears. Which is why she had to blink a few times when she saw what she saw . . . or _who_ she saw.

The scene before her, of a cape flapping in the breeze, didn't change however, so she wiped her eyes and gave it another try.

But still, it was Superman . . . with his back toward her as he looked out over the city.

Just as she was about to question his presence, especially on such a seemingly important night, Supes turned toward her and . . . well, Lana started laughing.

"A bit early for a Halloween party, isn't it, Clark?" she asked.

Clark's smile nearly lit up the entire Metropolis skyline. "You just called me Clark, didn't you?"

She nodded, still laughing at his joke. He did, however, look smoking hot in the borrowed suit. In fact, he looked better than Supes himself. "Of course I called you Clark. Though my first impulse was to call you _crazy_. Did I miss the part about dressing up for the occasion?"

Clark appeared somewhat bewildered now as he walked closer and took her hands in his. "No, you look perfect," he said, leaning over to kiss her. "Absolutely beautiful."

It seemed strange at first to wrap her arms around him, feeling the soft, unusual fabric against her skin. Then Lana slid her hands beneath the cape and trailed her fingers across the familiar curves of Clark's back, instantly returning to their passion on the Kent farm.

Clark seemed even more hungry for her than ever before, and Lana breathlessly whispered, "This is fun. Maybe you should borrow the super-powered suit more often."

Clark surprised Lana when he suddenly pulled back, at first with a confused squint, then a gentle smile. "Maybe I should've explained a bit more before I started kissing you, because . . . well, I'm not sure we're on the same page here."

Lana had no idea what he meant by that, tipping her head as she waited for him to continue.

He took her face in his hands and gently stroked her skin with his thumbs. "Lana, I didn't _borrow_ the suit," he said, then cleared his throat. "There's one very important ability Superman has that you don't know about. When he wears the suit, his appearance changes—he doesn't look like the man he truly is."

Lana nodded but remained speechless, trying to process what Clark was saying.

"The disguise doesn't work on everyone though," Clark continued. "Because the heart can only be fooled for so long. For example, if a woman was to truly fall in love with him, perhaps she would first recognize his smile, then see that his eyes are actually green—not blue, then hear his voice as how it truly is, not as how it's altered to protect his identity."

Lana had thrown her hand over her mouth and gasped the moment Clark mentioned the eyes. "Clark . . . Clark . . . " She said his name over and over again as she tried to sort through the moments she'd spent with Superman. Everything made perfect sense now—_Clark was Superman_. Why hadn't she figured it out sooner, even without seeing through the disguise? "I've been so stupid, I'm sorry. _So_ sorry."

Clark was quick to shake his head. "No, you haven't been stupid. I looked like a completely different person. I just didn't expect you to fall in love with me one body part at a time," he said, making them both laugh. "But I guess that's how love is. If it would've been me seeing through your disguise, I would've first recognized your breathtaking eyes, and then your laugh that has echoed through my soul since the day I met you, then your smile . . . which is always the last thing I think of before I fall asleep each night."

Lana went up on tiptoes to kiss Clark's soft lips. "You know what this means, right? I no longer have to feel guilty about being _strangely_ attracted to Superman—which is the main reason why I was trying to avoid him—well, that and the fact that I was _sure_ he was flirting with me!"

Clark laughed, returning her kisses. "He was! On accident, but I couldn't help it."

They joked around as they recalled Lana getting mad at Supes so often, or Superman trying to prod her for information about how she felt about Clark.

"Lana, I never wanted to _lie_ to you, and I tried my hardest not to," Clark said, becoming more serious.

She nodded. "I know that. And I don't blame you for wanting be _sure_ that I was in love with you before you told me everything."

He wrapped his arms around her. "Well, at first that's what I was waiting for, but then my motivation changed—as much as it was killing me to put off telling you. More than anything, I wanted _you_ to realize that you loved me enough to see through the disguise. I wanted _you_ to be certain that our love was real, and that it would last—through anything. Because I know this isn't an easy part of me to accept."

"Clark, when I told you I loved you, I meant _all_ of you—whatever comes with you—even if that means Lycra tights," she said with a smile, then circled around to the back side of him. "Which reminds me—"

Clark jumped away when she lifted up his cape and took a peek. "Hey! There's a reason this cape is extra long! You can look at me all you want when I'm in pants—but not tights—it's embarrassing. And it's _not_ Lycra. It's cool Kryptonian stuff, okay?"

She chased him around the roof as she tried to grab the cape again, then Clark suddenly disappeared. Lana heard his voice from the opposite side of the roof and whirled around to find him standing in an arrogant stance, his arms crossed.

"You know," he said, "being Superman comes with a few advantages when I'm playing tag."

Lana shook her head, about to say that he was cheating, but then an interesting thought occurred to her. "Do your abilities work without the suit?" she asked, walking closer.

He smiled, meeting her halfway across the roof. "Oh yeah."

She ran her hands over the big 'S' on Clark's chest. "Then as much as I love that sexy blur you make when you super-speed, I'd really love it if you'd take me flying . . . if _Clark Kent_ would take me flying."

Clark grinned, as if that was the best idea he'd ever heard.

"Because whenever I flew with Superman," Lana continued, "I always closed my eyes and imagined it was you."

Before Lana could even take another breath, Clark was gone and back—dressed all in black, looking hotter than she'd ever seen him. "So did I," Clark said, leaning over to wrap his arms around her waist.

Then he kissed her, and when she finally opened her eyes they were hovering far above Metropolis.

The strangest part of the moment for Lana was realizing that _every_ time Clark had ever kissed her, she felt like she was floating. He hadn't needed superpowers to capture her heart the way he had.

**Chapter 28**

_- Clark's Apartment - Downtown Metropolis -_

Clark had never felt so good as he soared through the sky, with the woman he loved in his arms. The air was perfect tonight—everything was perfect tonight. Though he knew Lana loved him, he was still shocked at how well she had taken the news of his double life.

After an hour or so of flying, Clark landed on the roof of the Daily Planet building. "Lana, a part of me wants to say that the first day we met—here on this very roof—that I never would've guessed I'd be flying you back here just over a month later, as myself, not Superman. But that wouldn't really be true, because something inside me, the moment we locked eyes, knew I'd share everything with you. Not only my secret, but my life."

"I knew the same thing, Clark," Lana answered, trying to reset her equilibrium after flying by wrapping herself around him. "Of course I didn't expect that you'd have such a big secret—but it could've been worse."

Clark smiled, noticing the crooked grin forming on her face. "Oh, really? What could be worse than your boyfriend being a cross-dresser? With tights, a cape, and a blinged-out utility belt. It's like I'm a flying Liberace—or Elvis, if I were all in white!"

Lana laughed, nodding. "Nah . . . you'd need to add a huge collar if you wanted to be Elvis . . . and big puffy hair. But again, it could be a lot worse. For example, I could've discovered that you weren't the _type_ of person I thought you were. There are so many people in my life who I've grown to trust, only to discover that I've been fooled into thinking they were honest and dependable. There's nothing worse than being deceived by a friend's _character_. Learning that you're Superman—and all he stands for—only strengthens what I've come to love about you."

Clark couldn't help but think of Lex—how he'd been fooled for so long into believing he was a good person, how he'd given him chance after chance to redeem himself and to become the honest man Clark knew he could be—only to discover how _wrong_ he was.

Yes, to be deceived by a friend's character is one of the most painful lessons in life.

But to be loved by someone as wonderful as Lana was a dream Clark had always chased, but never dared hope would actually happen.

Chills poured through him as he pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head. "How is it that two people so perfect for one another just happened to meet? It's too amazing to happen by coincidence—or even by fate. Or by divine guidance, or cosmic intervention of all the stars aligning in perfect order. And forget luck, because trust me, I've never been this lucky."

Lana was laughing as Clark rambled, trying to make sense of things. "I think the best explanation is that we're definitely meant to be together, and despite growing up far away from one another, little by little, our paths began to inch closer, and our hearts did the rest. I knew the moment we met that I'd fall in love with you—that I wouldn't be able to help it. You're everything I've ever wanted, Clark."

He smiled. "And a bit more, I'm sure. I can't imagine you putting an ad in the personals that says: Single White Female, searching for awkward farm boy with secret identity as tight-wearing crusader. Open to relationship with super-speeding alien, who can shoot fire from his eyes. Please call, 1-888-IAM-CRZY."

Lana scratched her head, obviously holding in her laughter. "Now that you put it that way, maybe I better rethink this."

Clark threw her up over his shoulder and spun her around. "Not a chance. You're not going anywhere."

She pounded on his back as she screamed. "Put me down, or I'll tell everyone Superman slept with a 'blankie' . . . until he went to college."

"You wouldn't!" Clark said, truly still embarrassed that his mother had told Lana that. "That's my biggest secret of all."

"It was blue and yellow plaid—with silky edges!" Lana continued. "And I'll also expose the truth about your teddy bear, Spanky!"

"Hey, leave Spanky out of this," Clark said, slowing down so he wouldn't get Lana too dizzy. He had other plans for making her light-headed. "Spanky is in the _Superhero's Stuffed Animal Witness Protection Program_. He knows too much about me to be compromised."

Lana clung to Clark's shoulders as he began to lower her to the ground, then she slowly moved her lips over the soft skin on his neck. "I'm sure he does. But you have someone new to snuggle with now."

"That's for sure," Clark said, holding her up with her feet dangling six inches from the ground, so she would keep her mouth right where it was.

There was so much he still wanted to talk to Lana about. Though he was grateful that she already knew _a lot_ of the crazy stuff from her conversations with Superman, he had planned to tell her all about Krypton tonight, including the Fortress of Solitude and many other things only Chloe and Martha knew about . . . and some details that not even they were aware of.

_But_, Clark's immediate attention started drifting elsewhere. After all, Lana had already been given enough to think about for the night. It was time to stop thinking all together, and get lost in the passion that sent Clark to the moon and back, without using his super-powers.

As Lana slipped her fingers through the back of his dark hair, Clark closed his eyes, relaxing as the ground below him seemed to melt and his legs turned to jelly. His muscles of steel were no match for Lana's gentle, yet heated, touch.

She made him shiver, she made him weak, she made him . . .

BAMMMM!

The heavy roof door flew open and slammed against the wall. Clark and Lana whipped around, half-expecting Lana's building manager to be standing there.

But it wasn't him. It was a tall lanky fellow with his barely-there hair whipping in the wind as he sped past them yelping like a little girl. "Help me, Kent! Hide me! They're after me!"

"Mr. Olsen!" both Clark and Lana shouted, chasing after him across the roof. "What's wrong? _Who_ is after you?"

"The police! They think I tried to kill Lex!" he shouted back. "Help! Please!"

"What!" was the stunned couple's reply, almost keeping up with the panicked lunatic.

"Clark, we have to help him!" Lana said.

Clark looked back toward the roof door—where he used his x-ray vision to scan down the stairway and elevators. Sure enough, there were at least a dozen officers hot on Mr. Olsen's trail. He knew Mr. Olsen should answer to the charges, because _surely_ he didn't have anything to do with the attempt on Lex's life at the opera house, but that moment didn't seem like the right time to tell Mr. Olsen that.

But what could he do? There wasn't anywhere to hide the maniac, especially with him screaming like he was.

Just as Clark was about to knock him out, Mr. Olsen ran straight into a brick wall and fell to the ground, completely unconscious. Clark couldn't help but smile, making Lana raise a confused eyebrow.

"Great timing, for once!" Clark whispered, bending to scoop Mr. Olsen into his arms. "Jump on my back, Lana."

She didn't hesitate and they were in the air before Lana could question what Clark was up to.

"Oh, you're such a smart boy," she said, giving him a firm kiss on the back of his head. "For a moment there, I forgot you could fly."

"Well, it was either that, or incinerate a dozen officers with my heat vision," Clark said, grinning at his cleverness as he looked down to see the police searching the roof in vain.

Lana patted him on the shoulder. "Good choice. And how convenient that Mr. Olsen happened to run into a wall."

"It was also pretty convenient that you already knew I was Superman, or you would've found out about my powers in a way I've been trying to avoid," Clark replied, searching for a secluded place to land before Mr. Olsen returned from Neverland.

"What? You wouldn't have knocked me out?" Lana asked with a smirk. "I wouldn't have blamed you if you had."

"Unfortunately, there have been a few victims of my super-powered finger tap to the head," Clark said, sheepishly. "But I couldn't have done that to you."

"If you wouldn't have had a choice, would you still have saved Mr. Olsen, even if it meant exposing your secret to so many people?" she asked, sounding like she already knew the answer.

"Of course. I've done it before, but I've been fortunate enough not to have anyone reveal my identity," Clark said. "But most who have seen me use my abilities have had abilities of their own, so it's benefited both of us to keep one another's secret."

Lana nodded as Clark touched down in a dark area of Metropolis Park. She stayed quiet as Clark gently placed Mr. Olsen on a bench. As the man stirred, he mumbled something like 'Who hit me? I'm gonna getcha!' Then he started wildly swinging his arms, his fists clinched.

"Clark, I have to say something before our friend here comes around," Lana said, facing Clark and running her hands down his arms. "It means a lot to me that you have shared all this—that you set things up tonight so I could not only hear the truth, but see it as well. You didn't have to—you could've avoided me when you were . . . " she looked down at a blinking and confused Mr. Olsen, " . . . in uniform, and I would've continued to live in blissful ignorance. But knowing you trust me this much is the most wonderful declaration of your love you could ever give. I love you so much."

Clark kissed her, returning her words of affection. He even forgot about Mr. Olsen until someone tugged on his pant leg and whispered. "Down on your knee, Kent. This is the moment."

Clark and Lana both looked down and smiled. "I'll make you a deal, Mr. Olsen. As soon as we're engaged, you'll be the first to know."

"Brilliant!" Mr. Olsen said, sitting up in a hurry.

Lana was staring at Clark, then got a huge grin on her face and looked away quickly. Clark was clueless, of course, as to why his words had made her react that way. Of course they would get married . . . that's what he'd meant when he told her he planned to spend the rest of his life with her. She knew that, right?

"Now, where were we?" Mr. Olsen continued in a groggy voice, as he rubbed the huge lump his forehead. "Oh, dear heavens! The police are after me!"

Clark and Lana both nodded sadly.

Mr. Olsen spoke between short, shallow breaths. "They're gonna lock me up . . . and feed me nothing but bread and water . . . and let rats chew on my bare feet . . . and I'll have to share a cell with a vicious serial killer . . . all because of that damn Lex Luthor! He's framing me!"

Clark knelt to Mr. Olsen's level on the bench. "First—you need to breathe or you'll pass out again. Second—you need to turn yourself in if you even want a chance at defending yourself. Third—I believe you. Lex has set this up, so you'll be all right if you can contact your lawyers right now and get this taken care of."

Mr. Olsen's eyes looked as wide as bright headlights in the darkness. "My lawyers! For heaven's sake, why didn't I think of that? You're a genius—remind me to give you a raise."

Clark smiled. "That's not necessary. Let's just get this mess over with so we can get you back to your family."

"Oh my family! They'll be so worried! I've been gone for hours," Mr. Olsen said, taking a cell phone from his pocket. "I need to call."

"Let's call your lawyers first, all right," Lana said. "They can meet you right away, and you can call your wife while you wait for them."

Mr. Olsen nodded. "Right . . . okay. You two are such a great team—so smart. Lawyers . . . yeah, that's what I need, don't I?" he said, as if he'd never thought of another side of legal work, other than buying up companies for him.

"You'll be sleeping in your own bed tonight if we hurry," Clark said, hoping he was right. With Lex involved, it was questionable, but he wouldn't admit that to Mr. Olsen.

Mr. Olsen's bottom lip suddenly started to quiver, and Lana sat beside him, running her hand over his back and whispering words of encouragement.

It would be a long night for all of them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 29**

_- Lois Lane's Apartment - Downtown Metropolis -_

"Really, just how stupid can you be, Lois?" Chloe asked through the phone receiver Lois held tightly in her hand. Lois was so frustrated with Clark and his new little pet, Lana, that it was amazing the phone didn't disintegrate to dust. "You've known Clark has liked you for years, and you've never given him anything but grief. How can you expect him to give up a girl he's crazy about? Especially when he knows it's all about getting even with Supes?"

"He doesn't know that!" Lois said. "And neither do you. Maybe I've finally come to realize just what a cool guy Clark is, okay."

Chloe groaned. "Save it. It's obvious why you're doing this. And, honestly, you're making a complete idiot out of yourself. And that little observation isn't just coming from Clark and Lana—the entire news floor is talking about you throwing yourself all over Clark."

"What!" Lois barked. She was suddenly so livid, it felt as though her skin was peeling off. "Who the hell has the guts to be saying things like that about me?" She thought she'd done a pretty darn good job intimidating enough people in the office that they'd never _dare_ speak an ill word against her.

"Pick a name—trust me, they're talking about you," Chloe said. There was a long space of dead air, with Lois' jaw dropped against the receiver, nearly starting to quiver from her multitude of conflicting emotions. At last, Chloe cleared her throat. "Lois, I'm sorry to be so blunt, but I've been begging you for a week now to back off. I've never seen Clark so happy—or Lana either. I think this is the real thing for them, and I just don't understand why you're being so selfish by trying to break them up."

That did it. Lois was done being preached to. She hung up the phone and swore she wouldn't answer it again no matter how many times Chloe called back to apologize.

She sat there steaming for ten minutes, then picked up the phone to make sure there was a dial tone. Maybe she'd hung it up wrong and Chloe couldn't get through. But the phone was fine, Chloe just hadn't called back . . . why? She _always_ called back after they had an argument.

Lois waited another ten minutes, but the phone still didn't ring. "What's wrong with her?" Lois pouted, standing up and throwing a pillow at the wall as hard as she could. Why wasn't Chloe supporting her in this? She'd always tried to turn Lois' affections toward Clark, so what was so different now? Was Lana really that much better for Clark?

Lois laughed at herself. "Umm . . . duh. I guess Lana actually _likes_ him, That might make a difference."

It wasn't that Lois didn't like Clark—he had always been a good friend, and certainly made her laugh her butt off on several occasions during any given day, but he just didn't have what it took to keep her interest.

Not like Travis had. Travis . . . the guy who had mysteriously moved out over the weekend without saying a word to her. And both his cell and regular phone were disconnected. What was up with that? Why would he just disappear . . . especially without telling Lois goodbye? His disappearing act did nothing to help Lois' bitter mood.

_Damn! Isn't there a single morsel of chocolate in this whole freaking apartment?_ Lois grumbled under her breath, raiding the scarce contents of the kitchen cabinets.

She finally found a half bag of chocolate chips and headed toward the sofa, determined to drown her misery in front of the television . . . while the pretty Miss Lang was out with her dreamboat of a farm boy. "Oh, please!" she said, popping a chip in her mouth.

Lois hadn't even sat down before a knock on the door startled her. It was nearly midnight, so it could only be one person—Travis, coming back to rescue her from this nightmare of a life.

She threw open the door with a relieved smile, only to find a smirking Lex Luthor. Before she could speak, he had walked past her and settled in on the sofa. "Nice place, Lois. For a wannabe reporter."

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" Lois snapped. "Get out!"

Behind her, the door closed. She grabbed the knob but it was being held by someone on the other side. She was a captive in her own home.

Lex stood lazily, a grin creeping over his pale face. "You of all people should know that I give orders, not take them, so make yourself comfy. We need to have a little chat."

Lois wanted to bolt for the balcony and start screaming for help—but why? He'd never hurt her before, just made her uncomfortable on several occasions. So, instead, she lifted her chin and with a false air of confidence, replied, "Fine. What do you want this time?"

Lex almost laughed . . .almost. She could tell it was stuck in his throat, along with a definite—though subtle—threat he was about to deliver. "I want what I've always wanted. Superman."

Unintentionally swallowing, Lois answered. "You really are stupid, you know that. Even if I knew who he was, or if he had a weakness . . . why in hell do you think I'd tell you?"

"Oh gosh, Lois, I don't know," Lex said with a dry smirk. "I can think of a million little reasons why you might tell me."

Lois knew exactly what Lex was referring to—the million dollars he'd recently offered her for the information.

Lex continued. "And, did I forget to mention that there's one more reason you might want to put on your Girl Scout uniform and be helpful?"

Lois folded her arms—releasing the breath she'd been holding. "Sorry, my cookie-peddling days are over."

"Oh yes, perhaps," was his cold reply. "But apparently your book-writing days were cut a bit short."

A chill swept through Lois' body.

"A tell-all book about the Man of Steel, by his bitter ex-girlfriend," Lex continued. "How charming. It was sure to be a best-seller."

"I'm not bitter," was Lois' instant reply, lying of course. "And neither was the book."

Lex finally released the mocking laughter he'd been holding in. "Trust me, it is now."

"What?" Lois asked, in barely a whisper. "What do you mean? I destroyed every trace of the book I wrote. It no longer exists."

Lex reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a disk. "That's not exactly true. Most of what you said is still in the text—only I've had a ghost writer spice the manuscript up a bit."

Lois ripped the disk from his hand. This seemed impossible! How did Lex even know about the book, let alone have a copy of it?

Continuing with his arrogant smirk, Lex added, "Ever think what a lucky girl you were to meet a guy like—oh, what was his name—Travis . . . just when things were starting to get a little boring with your Man of Steel? Well, old Travis not only left town with a load of change in his pockets, but he also left with some fond memories—admitting that he had a bit more fun with this assignment than he usually does. So kudos to you, Lane. He was working with several women on different projects for me, but you were one of his favorites—in the top three, I'm sure."

Travis was working for Lex! Why had she ever trusted him with the backup disk of the book? Chloe was right . . . she was an idiot, a very selfish one sometimes.

Refusing to let Lex know he'd gotten the best of her with Travis, Lois ignored the issue all together and moved on to the book. "So what do you have up your sleeve now, Lex? If you publish the book with a bunch of crap in it, then all I need to do is reveal the truth to the public—that this wasn't the book I wrote. Simple as that."

"Not exactly," Lex said. "You see, it will be a bit closer to this scenario . . . Superman's ex-girlfriend will be discovered missing . . . then the press will get word that you were writing a tell-all book, which may be connected to your disappearance . . . oh, but then, your body will be discovered—with all evidence pointing toward a raging Superman who let his emotions get the best of him. Then, what do you know, the book will be brought forward by a reputable publisher who will announce that you secretly turned in the manuscript months ago."

Lois had melted onto the sofa, unable to stand any longer. "You're going to kill me?" There was a long pause. "And frame Supes for it?" Another stunned pause. "And publish my book with a slew of lies?"

Lex raised a thin brow. "Pretty impressive plan, wouldn't you agree? It's the quickest end of the caped coward. If I can't kill him, then I'll just have to ruin him . . . it would be much more fun watching the public lose trust in him—run from the hideous alien monster." He made his way toward the door. "But things don't have to be that way, Lois. You can still go with my original offer to be a million dollars richer—and alive. All you need to do is give me the information I'm after. Now, that shouldn't be too difficult of a decision, should it?"

He had left before Lois had time to catch another breath. Her _bad_ day had just taken a sharp turn for the worse, then plunged off a cliff.

- - -   
Later than usual, Clark hurried past Perry White's office the following morning, tempted to super-speed so he wouldn't get caught. When there was no sign of White, who always seemed to have his radar tuned into Clark's heavy footsteps, Clark x-rayed into the office to find White reading, and re-reading, a typed note that said, _You know what I want, so get it._

Clark stopped dead in his tracks, listening in on what White was mumbling under his breath. "You idiot. How can I gather evidence that Supes is a criminal, when there's no evidence to gather?"

All of Clark's blood seemed to rush to his feet. Lana had told him of how she had been put to the task of investigating Superman for White, but it hadn't made a bit of sense until now. White was being put up to it by someone else, and there was only one person who would stoop that low.

But why would White, who didn't seem to be intimidated by anyone, now be sweating drops the size of bullets? What did Lex have on him? Was White being threatened? Of course he was. Luthors didn't work any other way.

Great. Just one more thing for Clark to worry about, he thought, still standing in the hallway—as if his shoes were stuck in a thick puddle of mud. Suddenly, he felt warmth wrap around him from the back and knew the now familiar arms in an instant.

"Good morning," Lana said, as Clark turned to face her, careful not to break her grasp on him.

"Hi," was the only word that could escape Clark's lips before he met hers. "You get any sleep?"

Lana scrunched her nose. "Not really. How about you?"

"No, but what's new?" he answered, kissing her again. "Though, lately I've been losing sleep for much better reasons than last night."

Somber expressions overcame both their faces, replacing their completely-smitten smiles. "No kidding," Lana whispered. "I'm worried sick. What do you think happened after we left him in the park?"

Clark took Lana's hand and started toward the news floor, to avoid getting caught standing around by White. "He's okay. After I took you home, I listened in at the police station."

Lana gave him a funny look, then smiled. "Oh, yeah. For a minute there . . . "

"What? You almost forgot that I can hear a pin drop from miles away?" Clark whispered with a silly smirk. Then he leaned over to whisper in her ear, but more to play with it and make her crazy. "Last night didn't go exactly as I planned, or you would've learned a lot more about my abilities."

Lana laughed, squirming in his arms as he continued to tease her neck . . . both of them forgetting that they were at work . . . approaching the news floor. Duh.

"You two have serious PDA issues," one of the secretaries said, giggling. It was Heidi—the same secretary that Lana once dished her flowers off to. They were now good friends, but Lana had never admitted having given her the unwelcome gift from Lex.

Heidi's comment was one that Clark would've expected from Lois, but Lois only glanced over from her desk—with strangely swollen and red eyes—then went back to work.

What? No slam from Lois? Something was definitely wrong. That was more of a clue than her swollen eyes. Lana seemed to notice her peculiar behavior as well, giving Clark a quick look of curiosity before Lois noticed.

The way Lois had been acting lately, Clark shouldn't have cared what was wrong with her, but unfortunately he did. As he and Lana continued to chat with Heidi, Clark tried to stay focused on the conversation, but his eyes kept drifting over to Lois with curiosity.

Of course, Lana noticed.

Lana ended the chat abruptly, gently taking Clark's hand and leading him toward his desk. "Okay, I'm not playing the jealous girlfriend here, I promise," she said. "I'm worried about Lois as well—strange as that is, considering the past few weeks."

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" Clark asked.

Lana shrugged. "Not unless our relationship is _truly_ getting to her now, but Chloe has assured me that she's sure it's all an act to win back Supes." She paused, squinting her eyes. "Okay, how messed up is that? I mean, well, you know. She's trying to make Supes jealous by flirting with _you_." She stopped talking and laughed.

Clark laughed too. "Well, a different version of me, but yeah."

"A little confusing."

"Tell me about it," Clark added with a roll of his eyes. "Even I can't keep my two selves straight all the time."

Lana pulled him down and whispered with affection. "Good thing I'm in love with _both_ of you. It's twice as fun now."

"And twice as much trouble, believe me," Clark said.

Lana dismissed the comment with a shake of her head, then added, "I think you should talk to Lois. When I got home last night, at three, she was sitting on the sofa staring at the wall as if she'd been doing so for hours. When I asked what was wrong, she gave me one of her false smiles and said, 'Nothing. Nothing at all.' In other words, she doesn't trust me, but I know she still trusts you, Clark, no matter how strangely she's been acting."

Clark nodded, then gave a huge smile. "And I can tell you trust me, too. Like you said, you're not acting like a jealous girlfriend, threatened by someone you know I could never have feelings for again."

With a gentle kiss on the cheek, Lana said, "That's right. When two people are truly in love, there's complete trust. I could send you off to a deserted island with a dozen women and not worry about you."

Clark jokingly raised a brow.

"Okay, scratch that," Lana said, giving him a tight hug. "But only because I'd miss you too much."

Clark turned to go talk to Lois. "Oh, good. Because, honestly, I'm much too busy today to be deserted on an island with a dozen women. I'm _so_ behind on my articles, I don't know how I'll ever catch up."

Seeing that nobody was looking in their direction, Lana gave Clark's backside a slap as he walked off. "I can't imagine what's been distracting you from your work."

Clark whirled around to face her. "Yeah, I can't imagine what it is. You'll have to remind me after dinner tonight."

"Oh believe me, I will," Lana said, heading toward her desk with a toss of her long gorgeous hair. "You'll definitely be reminded."

- - -  
Clark received the same fake smile from Lois that Lana had received, but he'd refused to leave her desk until she finally admitted something.

"I, umm, think I need to talk to Supes, so if you see him, umm, just let him know, will you?" Lois said, hesitantly.

Taken aback by the serious tone of her voice, Clark finally nodded. "Okay. Sure. Let me know if I can help in the meantime, all right?"

Another fake smile. "Thanks. I'm fine. Nothing big. Don't worry."

But it _was_ something big, Clark could tell, and it would drive him crazy until he spoke with her as Supes.

Geez . . . again, something else was added to Clark's already full plate of concerns. There was one thing keeping him sane right now—Lana. As crazy as things were, everything still seemed perfect because she was in his life. He'd never dreamed that he could be so content . . . and in love. She completed his world in every way, and he couldn't imagine life without her.

Nevertheless, Clark rubbed the sides of his head as he walked to his desk, ready to tackle the day. One thing was clear, he couldn't handle one more worry being toppled on him at the moment.

"Ahh . . . Mr. Kent!" came a booming voice as he rounded the corner. "There you are. Been looking everywhere."

Clark jolted, tempted to bolt off straight through the ceiling. But then he remembered last night . . . Mr. Olsen . . . wait, what was he doing there at the Daily Planet, with a cheery smile on his face no less.

"Umm, Mr. Olsen," Clark said, whispering a bit as he approached. "What a _surprise_. How are you?"

"Doing well . . . perfectly well," he answered. "Whole mess was taken care of early this morning with a competent judge. Posted mail, no worries."

"You posted _bail_, Dad, not _mail_," interrupted a slightly squeaky voice from behind Mr. Olsen.

"Oh, whatever," Mr. Olsen said with a wave of his hand. "Goodness, Kent. You've met my son Jimmy before, right?"

Clark nodded with a grin at the eager twenty-year-old, then shook his hand. Jimmy's skin-and-bones body nearly hopped up and down with Clark's strong handshake.

Jimmy's bright sparking eyes lit up even more. "Dad says you're going to be my mentor! Cool, huh?"

Clark swallowed. "Me? Wow, what an honor. But, umm, aren't you still in college?"

"Just graduated—a year early," said Mr. Olsen, beaming like a hundred watt bulb. "In accounting. But he's decided to be a reporter."

This time, Clark nearly choked. "Uhh . . . huh. From accounting to writing. Interesting. So, umm, when will you start working here?"

"Today," Mr. Olsen said, practically shoving Jimmy toward Clark. "You two are going to write the article about my arrest—it's gonna leak out some time today, so it's just as well that it comes from my own paper. Just make me sound brave—being the one who's being framed by Lex Luthor and all. No pressure."

Clark cleared his throat. It was a miracle he could still speak. "Okay, well. Yeah. No pressure at all there. I don't think we should mention anything about Lex framing you though, because that might, umm, _tip him off_ that you suspect him, you know?"

Mr. Olsen brought a finger to the side of his head. "Oh, brilliant thinking, Kent. Yeah, we've got to make that a surprise, don't we?" He took a deep breath. "Well, ta ta for now, kids. Jimmy, listen to everything this genius had to say. He's my best reporter, you know. He'll have you writing award winning articles in no time. Hope I've caught you on a good day for this, Kent."

Clark nodded his head in a falsely casual manner. "Great day—yep. No problem."

"Excellent!" Mr. Olsen said, skipping away. For a guy who had just been arrested for attempted murder, he was sure in a good mood.

After only a few minutes of Clark getting Jimmy familiar with the workstation next to him, Jimmy said he needed to go "potty" and Clark was ever so eager to point him in the right direction.

Clark pounded his head on the keyboard—carefully, of course, when he really felt like smashing it to dust.

Soon, he felt small hands massaging his shoulders. "Come on, let's go," Lana said softly.

"Where?" Clark asked, perking up a bit.

"You need some stress-relieving therapy—in the elevator."

**Chapter 30**

_- The Daily Planet Elevator - Downtown Metropolis -_

"When I was a kid, I used to think elevators were fun," Clark said, slipping further down the elevator wall, his knees giving out. "But I had no idea just how _fun_ they could be."

Lana continued caressing his neck and running her thin fingers through his hair. He had relaxed considerably since she'd taken him in the elevator ten minutes ago—just as she'd hoped. "Okay, baby, I want you to remember something every time you feel overwhelmed. You no longer have to carry burdens on your own." She tenderly kissed his cheek. "I'm here for you, and I'll be here for you forever."

Even before Clark shared all of who he was, Lana had felt closer to him than she'd ever imagined she could with anyone. And now, the connection between their souls was even more intensified. She wouldn't only be there to share his burdens, but also to do whatever it took to protect his secret. The world needed Superman, and _she_ needed Clark.

It wasn't until this morning that she began thinking of how his double life would affect their relationship. She knew it would be hard to find time to be together—just as it already had been, but Lana was determined to be one hundred percent supportive and not let Clark feel guilty when he was forced to put duty before personal pleasure. 

She already realized this would mean him missing countless special occasions in the future. But the sacrifices Lana would have to make to be with Clark were nothing compared to the unhappiness she knew she'd have without him.

Clark took her face in his hands and returned her kisses. "Lana, are you really sure this is what you want? I can't offer you a normal life, or anything close to that. Last night was only a taste of the chaos I live with almost every day."

She tipped her head and gave a sincere smile. "Clark, I'd stick with you even if you told me that you turn into an ogre after sunset," she said. "I'm in love with you, and nothing can change that. It's your heart that makes you a superhero, not your red cape."

Clark grinned. "You like the cape though, don't you?"

"Oh yeah. The cape's hot," she said, laughing at how much he loved his cape. She adored everything about Clark, especially the silly side of him. "I'm surprised, however, that you didn't go with plaid."

He rolled his eyes with a smile. "Well, I wanted to, but my mom and Chloe said it might give me away."

"Yep, I think—" Lana started, but she was interrupted by a loud booming voice. 

"Clark Kent, please return to the news floor," it said. "Mr. Clark Kent, please return to the news floor."

"What's that about?" Clark said, looking at Lana with bewilderment. "I've worked here for years and have never heard the P.A. system."

Lana was just as confused. "We better hurry."

- - -  
They took the elevator back to the news floor, separating when they reached the hallway so people wouldn't discover that they'd snuck off for some fun. If Clark was in trouble, this little rendezvous definitely wouldn't help matters. The only thing he could think of was that White went to his desk, couldn't find him, then flipped out because he wasn't there typing until his fingers bled. Which is exactly what Clark should've been doing, since he was so far behind on his work.

He passed White's office, however, to find him scratching his head at his desk—nothing more. When Clark finally reached his cubicle, he found a grinning Jimmy Olsen sitting in a chair next to his own. "Oh, hiya, Clark! Gosh, I was worried there. Glad this place has a nifty P.A. system."

Clark's jaw about dropped to the floor. "Worried? About what?"

"That you were off looking for me—but like I told you, I just went to the bathroom," Jimmy said. "Then I came _right_ back, eager to learn."

"Right," Clark said with a nod. "Umm, actually, I wasn't looking for you. I just had something to do."

"Oh, yeah? What was it?"

Clark froze, having no idea how to respond. "Something important."

Jimmy's grin got even bigger. "Cool. Dad told me how important you were around here. Can you teach me how to do what you just did? Dad said you'd teach me _everything._"

Clark laughed, not meaning to. "Uhh, I don't think he was talking about _this_."

"Maybe we should ask him," Jimmy said, not backing down.

"Perhaps another time," Clark said, hearing Lana giggling on the other side of his cubicle wall. "Let's get started on this article. We'll miss the deadline if we don't hurry."

"Holy cow! We have a deadline!" Jimmy said, almost with a squeal. "I'm so excited!"

Clark felt like he was in the Twilight Zone—with a mini-Mr. Olsen. And just like Mr. Olsen, nothing seemed to bother Jimmy, including the fact that the article they were about to write was about his father being arrested. Geez, you'd think that might give him a bit of anxiety, but no.

Did the Olsen family take a special kind of vitamin that made them perpetually happy?

_And_ perpetually clueless, Clark thought, watching Jimmy turn to Clark's desk and type wildly on the keyboard—making a mess that looked like: vciooourehljdasijfdgk voihvw'iousdaikjncjlodjfoihfdklknihds'oddjioshglk.

Was Jimmy really twenty? He acted like he was half his age. Now that he thought of it, Clark wondered how Mr. Olsen passed for an adult. Let alone, led an empire.

But just as Clark had grown very fond of Mr. Olsen, he was sure Jimmy's little quirks would become just as tolerable. However, Clark didn't have to spend every moment at work with Mr. Olsen, did he? Just how long would he be Jimmy's "mentor?" 

He felt like groaning and falling to the ground with the thought, but focused instead on Lana in the elevator—yep, that did the trick. He could make it through anything.

"Wowsers!" Jimmy said. "Look, I spelled a word just by pounding on the keyboard."

Clark gave a big smile, with an even bigger deep breath. "Really? What word did you spell?" he asked, examining the line of random letters Jimmy had _typed_ out.

Jimmy anxiously pointed out the three letters that just happened to be next to one another in the gibberish. "I spelled, ODD!"

Doing his best not to die with laughter, Clark patted Jimmy's back. "Imagine that."

Jimmy spent the morning asking question after question about the computer program Clark used to write his articles. It took all of Clark's patience to answer, knowing it wasn't important at the moment—getting the article done was all that mattered.

The hours until lunch lasted a lifetime. This was one of the few days Lana wasn't doing an afternoon gig for the television station, and they had plans for lunch that _would not_ involve Jimmy, Clark was sure about that.

Fortunately, Clark and Lana were able to spend lunch alone, but only due to Clark's super-speeding ability. He had to use it to get them down the stairs and out of the building, while Jimmy used the P.A. system again, looking for Clark.

"I'm sure he'll calm down," Lana told Clark as they drove back to the Daily Planet after a nice lunch break at Clark's place. One where they certainly didn't get a lot to eat, but were both fine with that. "It's his first day of work, so he's just anxious."

"Anxious?" Clark asked, laughing. "If this is anxious, I'd hate to see him excited—or hyper, or heaven forbid, exuberant. The roof of the building would blow off."

"Oh, you're just trying to make me feel bad for you so I'll take you back to the elevator," Lana said, gripping his hand.

He gave a hopeful grin. "Is it working?"

Two hours later, Clark was so nervous about getting the article about Mr. Olsen done, that he sent Jimmy over to an empty workstation and told him that he was ready to write on his own—that the student had surpassed the teacher. Jimmy was thrilled, rolling up his sleeves and going to work.

Just before five, he came racing toward Clark. "Done! Did I make the deadline?"

"Sure did," Clark said, looking at the big clock on the news floor wall. "Just in time."

"Dang. I was hoping I could yell, 'Stop the presses!'" Jimmy said.

"Maybe another time," Clark replied, looking over Jimmy's article. Well, if he could call one single paragraph an article. Ouch. It said:

Everyone knows that the nicest guy in Metropolis is James Olsen. He gives lots of his money to people who don't have any and is always helping everybody and doesn't mean to hurt anybody's feelings. That's why it really stinks that he is getting blamed for trying to shoot Lex Luthor even though they don't like each other because Luthor is always trying to buy everything that James Olsen owns. He didn't do it and he is really sad that the police think he did. He hates guns and doesn't even have a black shirt and that's what the shooter wore. He doesn't like black either so he probably would've worn blue if he was gonna do something like that. And he loves operas so why would he shoot someone at an opera? That would make him feel bad that he ruined everyone's night. The end.

Clark read it again, trying to overlook the atrocious structure, and said, "Jimmy, you have some good points here." He smiled. "You know, I think you should go talk to your dad's attorneys and make sure they've thought about all this stuff. A person's character and habits are really big issues when they're on trial."

Jimmy gave a confident nod. "Thanks, but I don't think my article is good enough yet for the newspaper, so I hope you've been working on one, too. I really want people to know that my dad is innocent and I know you can do that, Clark."

All the air left Clark's lungs. Geez, no pressure at all. "I'll do my best, Jimmy."

Clark turned back to his computer, ready to finish up the article.

Jimmy stood behind Clark and watched him for a few minutes, surprisingly quiet for the first time that entire day. Then he spoke again. "Clark, can I tell you a secret?"

He turned, shocked. "Umm, sure."

"I don't really want to be a reporter. That's just what my dad wants me to be."

"Oh?" Clark said.

"Yeah. I didn't want to be an accountant either, but my dad thought I'd be good at it since I'm a math whiz," Jimmy added. "He's really proud of me, so I don't want to disappoint him."

Startled by Jimmy's sudden seriousness, Clark pulled out a chair next to him and motioned for Jimmy to take a seat. "Is there something else you'd like to do?"

Jimmy shrugged. "I don't know."

"Do you have any hobbies?" Clark asked.

"I'm really good at chess," he answered. "And I like to take pictures."

"What do you take pictures of?"

"Usually animals. Sometimes other stuff when we go on vacation."

Clark thought for a second, then smiled. "Why don't you bring your photos in tomorrow, I'd love to see them."

"Cool. Okay," Jimmy answered, beaming.

Clark turned back to work, but Jimmy interrupted him again. "Uhh, can you help me out with one more thing before I go home."

"Sure," Clark said, absently typing away.

"I, uhh, want to ask a girl out on a date, but I don't know what to say," Jimmy replied, his voice a bit shaky.

Clark looked at him with hesitation. "Oh. Okay. Well, who's the girl? Is she someone you already know, or—"

Jimmy stood and got on his tiptoes, peering over the cubical walls, way across the news floor. "She's over there—I don't know her name, but she's _so_ pretty."

Clark stood as well, horrified to see Lana right in Jimmy's line of sight. She was speaking with the secretary.

"Jimmy," Clark said, not sure how to break the news. "Gosh, I hate to tell you this, but Lana is my girlfriend."

Jimmy's shoulders dropped. "Dang. You like blondes too, huh?"

"Blondes?" Clark asked, snapping his head back to where Lana was. "Oh wait! Are you talking about Heidi, the secretary?"

"The one with the curly blonde hair who looks like an angel?" Jimmy said, sounding jubilant.

"Yep, that's her," Clark answered, relieved. "Sure I'll help you. All you need to do is get to know her a little bit first, then say something like, 'Would you like to go out for some dinner tonight?'"

"Umm. Gosh. Uhh. Really. Like . . . you . . . just . . . _say_ . . . it . . . like . . . that?" Jimmy stuttered, managing the words between heavy breaths. It was like he was suddenly having a panic attack.

"Jimmy, I've always had a really hard time asking girls out, but once you do it a few times, it becomes easier," Clark said, trying to calm him. "But maybe you should wait until tomorrow—give yourself a night or so to prepare."

Jimmy shook his head hard. "No. If I'm gonna do it, I have to do it now. Before I lose my nerve."

Lose his nerve? Geez, the guy couldn't even breathe. "Okay, let's just go over what you're going to say then, should we? That should help."

Nodding, Jimmy repeated what Clark told him to say. Ten minutes later, Jimmy re-tucked his shirt, checked his zipper—thank heavens, since it was half-way down—and practically stumbled, six inches at a time, toward Heidi's desk.

Just before he got there, he turned around and ran back to Clark. "I can't remember what to say, will you write it down on my hand?"

He did so, then Jimmy was off again. Lana was back to her seat by now, watching Jimmy curiously. Clark joined her at her cubicle and told her what was going on.

"Listen in," Lana said, nudging Clark. "We'll be too obvious if we go any closer."

Clark swallowed, feeling almost as nervous for Jimmy as Jimmy himself looked.

Inching closer . . . ever so closer, then stopping to wipe his forehead, Jimmy finally reached the secretary's desk. He stood there like an ice sculpture, staring at Heidi until she looked up.

"Hi, can I help you with something?" Heidi asked in her sweet high voice.

When Jimmy didn't answer, Clark hit his head in shared agony.

Heidi leaned forward on her desk. "Are you okay?" she asked Jimmy.

Jimmy finally moved. He raised his hand a few inches, took a look at it . . . then BAMM!

He fell right to the floor.

Both Clark and Lana raced over. Heidi was already on the floor with Jimmy's head in her lap. "Oh my gosh! He was standing there with the palest face I've ever seen, then he fainted!" Heidi said.

Clark knelt down as a crowd started to gather. "Umm, I think he has low blood sugar—maybe he worked through lunch," he said, grasping for any explanation he could find. "Could someone get him some orange juice, please?"

Jimmy started coming around a few seconds later, but then he looked up, and finding himself in Heidi's lap, passed out again.

Clark knew there was only one way to remedy the situation. "Heidi, I'll get him. Your phone is ringing."

It was ringing because Clark had just super-sped to a nearby desk and called her number. When he finally got Jimmy settled on a lobby couch, and Mrs. Olsen arrived to take him home, Clark slugged back to his desk, feeling overwhelmed again.

He still had hours and hours of work to do, and would be forced to cancel his evening with Lana. He finished the Olsen article in another ten minutes, then at six sharp, he heard bloody murder screaming coming from down the hall. "Kent! Where's my freaking article on the sewer drainage in the subways! It was due yesterday!"

White's voice echoed all around him, booming in his head like a cannon. "Damn. He remembered," Clark said to himself. That was just one of the many articles he was behind on, but the very one that he _swore_ to White that he'd have on his desk by six.

He didn't want to face White. He just couldn't. But after thirty seconds passed, he knew he wouldn't have a choice when he heard White's unmistakable footsteps coming toward him. "WHERE'S MY ARTICLE, KENT? I have a blank space in my paper that's going to read, 'Clark is an incompetent moron' if you don't place it in my hand this very instant."

Right on cue, a paper landed in Perry White's sweaty hand. Clark's eyes just about popped out of their sockets—he hadn't even started on the project.

"I'm done proof-reading your article, Clark," Lana said, calm as a morning sunrise. "Excellent work. I never knew sewer drainage could be so compelling."

White looked utterly stunned. "Well, looks like you managed to keep your job again, Kent." He took off down the hall with the article.

Clark waited for White to be gone, then pulled Lana down to his lap in a gigantic hug. "I'm so in love with you!"

"You see, Clark," she said. "You'll never again need to face a hard day alone. I'd write a thousand articles on sewer drainage for you, just to see your Kent smile."

**Chapter 31**

_- Clark's Apartment - Downtown Metropolis -_

Normally, Clark and Lana didn't have the television on while they occupied the couch, but Clark had been watching it from a distance as he cooked dinner for the two of them. Then he raced over to her apartment to pick her up, and by the time they got back to his couch—there wasn't time to turn the television off.

And once again, neither of them were thinking of food. The most successful crash diet in the world is simply falling in love. It was a miracle that they'd survived the past few days with so little food or water. Or sleep.

However, even those brutally tired, blinded by love, and starved on account of using their mouths for more entertaining purposes than eating . . . could not have turned a deaf ear to the words of a breaking news alert coming from the television.

"The dam broke twenty minutes ago, sending millions of gallons of water speeding toward the community of Kreukville . . . it's expected to take countless lives." The newscaster nearly choked on the words. "All authorities can do now is warn the residents to get to higher ground. And all _we_ can do is wait."

"Oh, no it's not," Lana said, as both she and Clark straightened up like bolts of lightning. "You've got to help, Clark."

Clark looked shell-shocked. "I know, but how? I can't save _all_ those people!"

The community where the dam broke was 500 miles away, there wasn't time to work out the details.

"Get dressed, and I'll think of—" Lana said, smiling at her handsome super-boyfriend when he was standing there in his suit before she'd finished her sentence. She raced to the kitchen to grab a handful of the grilled cheese sandwiches Clark had made . . . but he was there before her, having already downed two of them.

"I'll need some energy for this," Clark said, looking as though his mind was racing through his options. Did he approach a monumental task like this with any sort of a plan?

Lana suddenly had a slew of questions enter her mind, along with an overwhelming sense of duty to help him. She also felt guilty for not making sure he got more to eat . . . or even time to sleep, over the past few days. "Clark, you must be running on fumes," she said, straightening out his cape on his shoulders.

Clark gave her a soft kiss. "I'm running on love, baby," he said, giving both of them a welcomed laugh. "Be back soon."

That was better! Clark seemed to pull his superhero confidence out of thin air. He put on a determined face and stuck out his chest, like a proud lion ready to roar.

"Wait!" Lana said, just as she could sense Clark was ready to zip off. "The water, Clark! Stop the water! As you said, you can't save all the people one by one—you'll have to stop the water from reaching the homes."

Clark looked down at his hands—powerful, but nothing compared to the fury of nature. "I'll do it . . . somehow." Then he was gone in a blur.

Lana paced in front of the television, waiting for another newsflash. "Come on! Geez!" she shouted at the screen. It seemed like forever until another one came on. The water was getting closer and closer to the community. She was panicking. "You can do this, Clark! I know you can!"

Yet, there was no sign of him, for ten . . . then fifteen minutes.

Suddenly, another newscaster broke into the current report. "You won't believe this! Superman! He's . . . " the guy couldn't catch his breath.

Along with the other newscaster, Lana yelled, "He's WHAT!"

"He's ripping huge trees right out of the Earth—roots and all, then ramming them back into the ground beside one another," the reporter said, with obvious awe. "It looks like he's been at it for a while—man he's fast! I can't tell what he's making, but the water is coming right toward it."

Then she saw him—the whole world saw him—as a helicopter zoomed in on the action.

"Yeah! Go Supes!" Lana said, jumping around in front of the television. Where were her old pom-poms when she needed them? She laughed. "I mean, go CLARK!"

She was so excited her whole body was shaking, even though she had _no idea_, just like the reporter, what Superman was doing with the trees. She had to share this moment with _someone_! She couldn't bear to watch it alone.

Lana grabbed Clark's cell phone off the coffee table, since hers was somewhere in her purse—wherever she'd hurled it when Clark tossed her on the couch.

"Are you watching this!" she said immediately, when Chloe answered.

"Huh?"

"Tel-e-vi-sion!" Lana said, just able to form the words in her insanity.

"Calm down, woman!" Chloe said. "What channel?"

"Probably _all_ of them! Just turn it on!"

There was a pause, then Chloe said, "Oh my . . . what's he _doing?_"

"No idea!" Lana said, laughing. "But it will somehow stop the water—I know it!"

"Trees?" Chloe asked, confused. "How can he stop water like that? It doesn't look like he's building a dam."

Just then, the water collided with the trees and Lana closed her eyes tight, unable to watch. But that only lasted for a moment.

"Ice!" Both Lana and Chloe yelped at the same time.

The screen showed Superman using his ice breath to form a thick wall, with the trees both shaping its path and giving it strength. The news reporter was literally screaming, "This is the best news footage in the history of television! Superman is diverting the water away from the homes with a gigantic wall of ice and trees! Wait a minute, what's that? My helicopter team has just confirmed that the water is rushing into a nearby valley—far from causing any trouble. This man is _truly_ a superhero!"

"That's my man!" Lana said, now jumping on the couch. "_My_ man!"

Chloe fell totally silent.

"Whew, look how _hot_ he looks!" Lana added. "He's gonna have a _very nice_ hero's welcome when he gets home."

"Umm, Lana," Chloe said. "Is there something you aren't telling me?"

"Huh?" Lana asked. Then duh, it hit her. "Oh, yeah. We probably have to be cryptic here, since we're on the phone, but I, ummmmm, well, _I know what you know_. How's that?"

Silence again. "So, the question is, do you know _as much_ as I know?"

What was that supposed to mean? "I don't KNOW. All I know is that you know. It's the same thing we _know_ about our favorite pizza delivery man," she said, referring to their common pal Peter Parker . . . aka, Spider-Man. "Only this time, the guy is _out of this world_, and he almost ended up with a plaid cape."

Chloe laughed. "Yep, we definitely know the same thing. You okay with the whole alien bit? Clark was _totally_ freaking out about that part."

"Shhhhhh. We can't talk this openly over the phone. You just said his name."

"It's okay, I just realized that you called from Clark's cell, not your own," Chloe said. "Clark and I have, well, special phones. You can't trace them, and you can't tap them either."

"Sweet!" Lana said. "How do I get one of those?"

"I'm sure he'll buy you one soon, now that you're part of the 'team'. He was going crazy waiting for you to see through his disguise."

Lana continued to watch Superman work, completely amazed that the man in the suit was her own, dear, Clark. The only man she'd ever fallen in love with, and the only one she wanted to be with. Did she deserve such a man? She hoped so.

The true question was, would Clark take her as she was, with her own secret? A secret only her parents knew. The thought of telling him, of imagining his disappointment, literally made her heart ache and cut her breath short.

How could she _ever_ say the words? It was hard enough to say them to herself.

"Lana? Hello?" Chloe said. "Are you okay, you got really quiet there."

"Yeah, fine," Lana said, regaining her composure. "It's all just a bit overwhelming. Not the fact that he's Superman, but that I'm not sure how to best support him, and protect his secret. I'll worry about him so much now."

"Oh, don't worry about our do-gooder farm boy. I've seen buildings collapse on his head—he walks away from the rubble brushing the dust off his pants."

Lana shook her head, trying to banish the terrifying thought of watching that happen to him. "You know, it was one thing when I saw Superman do things like that. Now that I can see Clark in that suit, I'll worry regardless of what abilities I know he has."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Of course not. And I won't," Lana said. "Clark's job is to protect and save everyone else. My job is to be _his_ hero—to make sure that he's happy and ease his burdens. I love him so much, Chloe. He means everything to me."

"I know that," Chloe said. "And I have to agree that Clark's kind of a wimp when it comes to anyone worrying about him. So, you be there for Clark, and I'll be here for _you._ Okay? Call me anytime you want to vent."

"Thank you," Lana answered, relieved that she wasn't the only one who knew Clark's secret. She was also anxious to talk to Mrs. Kent. Wow, Lana couldn't begin to imagine how many sleepless nights she's had. "And, Chloe. This is also really exciting for me. Just watching him right now makes me so proud. I know it adds a difficult dimension to our future together, but I'll do whatever it takes to be with Clark. I'll give up anything I have to." She said this, inwardly hoping Clark truly felt the same way.

- - -

Lana forced herself to stay awake well past midnight, even though her eyes were burning, and her muscles were incapable of voluntary movement. Her body regained strength in an instant, however, when Clark suddenly appeared, then collapsed to the floor.

"Clark! What's wrong!" she said, rushing to him. He was spread-eagle in his Superman suit, lying there with his eyes closed.

He gave a faint smile. "It feels like every unbreakable bone in my body is definitely broken."

She ran her hand through his hair. "You're not allowed to play around like that. You scared me to death."

"Yeah, I'll probably do that a lot," he said. "Sorry, but I don't have enough energy left to stand. I almost crashed several times flying back here."

These weren't the type of comments Lana needed to hear right then, but she knew she couldn't show it. "Well, next time wear a helmet and parachute, will you?" She leaned over and kissed him. "You were amazing tonight, Clark. You saved thousands of lives."

He smiled. "I can't believe I did it."

"I can."

"It was _your_ idea to focus on stopping the water, Lana. Thank you. I'm so used to thinking of saving the people first."

She sighed, scooting down to his feet as he continued to lie on the floor. "You're also used to thinking of everyone but yourself first, Clark. So just relax and let me take care of you. You need to sleep."

Clark took her hand. "Maybe I don't _want_ to sleep."

Lana tipped her head, giving him a 'nice try' smile. "You've had your fill for the day, flyboy. But I'll be here all night, right beside you." She gently removed his boots and set them to the side.

Clark wiggled his toes. "Oh, look. I can move again. See, I'm fine—get over here."

Lana laughed, shaking her head. "I should've guessed you were Superman, with all those super-powered hormones in your system." She trailed her hand slowly up his body, then removed his cape.

"Hate to tell you this, but you're not doing a very good job putting me to sleep," Clark said.

Lana put a finger to his mouth. "Shhhhh." She left the room and came back with two pillows and a blanket. The problem was, she'd changed into one of Clark's long t-shirts for her pajamas.

"Oh, definitely _not_ helping," Clark said, looking her over.

She tucked a pillow under his head and spread the blanket over the two of them. "If you sleep, I'll stay. If not—"

Clark immediately closed his eyes and pretended to snore. Lana snuggled in against him, running her hand over the soft texture of his Superman suit. Then, the texture suddenly changed . . . it was his bare skin.

She laughed and gave his lips a soft, lingering kiss. "Funny. Very funny."

Life would certainly be entertaining with Clark around.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 32**

_-Clark's Apartment - Downtown Metropolis -_

Lana awoke with a smile on her face, feeling Clark next to her before she fully came around. She laid there for several more minutes, listening to Clark's deep, steady breathing, and noticing how the sunlight was casting bright highlights through his hair.

Her eyes widened, however, when she realized the sun was never that bright when her alarm went off. Wait! She hadn't even set an alarm—neither had Clark, apparently. Didn't he have it on an automatic schedule? Crazy boy!

That was one thing that would surely change when they were . . . _married_. The word spun round and round in Lana's head as she rushed to get ready for work. She'd be over an hour late—even if she had super-speed.

As much as Lana knew she had to hurry, she still couldn't help imagining the wonderful life she and Clark would have together. She would definitely want to live at Clark's place—they wouldn't even need to go through the pain of finding something new. Despite the fact that a man obviously lived there by himself—without a single photo or decoration to be seen—it somehow managed to have its own charm.

She closed her eyes tight, trying to banish the thought that Clark wouldn't understand what she had to tell him. Of course he would . . . he loved her. That's all he needed, wasn't it?

Lana decided to let Clark sleep, and hoped he wouldn't be upset with her for it. She would deal with Perry White herself. If anyone could stand up to a workplace tyrant, it was a woman with a pretty smile. She'd think of _something_ to say.

Well, something besides, _Sorry, Mr. White. Clark is just plain tuckered out from yanking up hundreds of trees and stuffing them back into the ground so he could save the community of Kreukville. Oh, and his throat is a bit scratchy from all that cold air he blasted from his mouth to make the ice wall . . . you know how it goes._

Surely, Mr. White would understand _that!_

Lana raced to work in Clark's Envoy . . . without any makeup, and brushing through her hair with her fingers. She didn't have a toothbrush, so she searched through her handbag and found some gum. Her one saving grace was that she'd changed her clothes between work and going to Clark's place last night. So at least she wouldn't stink like yesterday's laundry.

Oh. But what about deodorant? She'd have to go to the corner market during lunch, but what could she do until then? She smiled when she saw an air freshener swinging wildly from the rear view mirror. Taking it down, she rubbed it on her shirt.

"Lovely. Now I'll smell _pine fresh_ all day long!" Lana said to herself, laughing at her desperation. That was just perfect, since Clark smelled quite a bit like trees today as well. When Clark finally awoke and came to work, however, the two of them might raise some brows.

Perhaps they could tell everyone they _frolicked in the woods_ last night, as young lovers often do.

Lana continued to think of one silly excuse after another as she drove to work—to explain she and Clark's common condition: They joined Greenpeace and had been protesting the slaughtering of trees . . . they were building a log cabin . . . they were in the cast of Blair Witch 3 . . . they'd taken up the hobby of bird watching.

She had previously worried about coming up with so many lies to protect Clark's secret—not only didn't she consider herself an expert liar, but ethically, she knew it would be difficult for her.

However, after the little conversation she'd just had with herself, it might be best if she considered her new role as . . . not a _Liar_, but as a _Creative Fabricator._

"Good thing I graduated in Journalism!" Lana told herself, trying to get serious as she pulled into the parking garage of The Daily Planet building.

Lana exited the elevator on her floor with caution. Now she knew how Clark always felt when he approached Perry White's office. She planned to tiptoe past the door, but she could see from a few feet away that it was wide open.

Then she heard a voice. "I'm sorry, Mr. White hasn't arrived yet . . . yes, I'm the same woman you spoke with at the receptionist's desk. I'll give him your message."

Lana stopped, realizing it was Heidi on the phone—Perry White's personal phone, which was just plain weird. He guarded it phone with his life.

"What's going on?" she asked Heidi, as the two strolled toward the news floor.

"I have no idea, to be honest," Heidi said. "I've worked here for years and White hasn't missed a single hour of work. He's usually here by six-thirty, and he hasn't so much as called."

Lana would've thought this was merely strange, but Clark had told her about the mysterious message White received yesterday—the one concerning Superman—so her gut twisted up like pulled taffy.

"Well, have you called his home? Or his cell?" Lana asked.

Heidi's eyes were wide as she turned to Lana. "Are you nuts? What if he has a headache—or a hangover—and he's sleeping?" She shivered. "I wouldn't dare."

_I would._ Lana said to herself. So after Heidi left for her desk, Lana went straight to work and made the calls. No one answered White's home phone, and his cell went straight to voicemail.

Now she had a problem. She would have to call Clark for help if she couldn't track White down herself. The last thing she wanted to do, though, was to seem that dependent on her man of steel. _Everyone_ was dependent on him. He needed someone to take care of their own problems once in a while. This was something she was sure she could do on her own.

With conviction, Lana walked back down the hall toward the elevator. She'd start at Perry White's home . . . if he wasn't there, she'd search the bars—he'd had problems in the past, perhaps he was relapsing . . . if she couldn't find him there, she'd pay a visit to Lex Luthor—Clark was sure he was behind the note to White.

Lana pressed hard on the elevator's down key, waiting anxiously for it to come to her floor. Whatever it took, Lana would find White. She was determined!

"Good grief!" Lana heard, as she trekked through the elevator doors when they finally opened. "Don't run me over!"

She hardly glanced at the man before the doors started closing again. Lana was on a mission . . . and she wouldn't stop until she found—

"Perry White!" she frantically shouted, then choked on her gum when it flew to the back of her mouth. She jumped between the elevator doors again, getting squished.

"What?" White said, gawking at this crazy woman who was choking, getting assaulted by an elevator, and looking like she'd just seen a dead man.

On top of that, she smelled like a Christmas tree.

"Why are you shouting?" White continued.

"Sorry." _Cough_ "I was . . . " _Cough_ _Cough_ " . . . looking for you." _Cough_ "Actually."

White walked toward his office, and Lana followed.

"What do you need?" White asked, in a brisk tone. "If it's an extension on an article—NO."

His assumption ticked Lana off. She'd been ready to go risk her life for this prat!

"I've _never_ asked for an extension," she said, making sure he filed that way in his big head.

He looked over his shoulder as she continued to follow him. "Oh, but your boyfriend has, and laziness is contagious."

"Clark is _not_ lazy," Lana said, wishing she had heat vision.

Perry laughed. "At least I got you to admit that he's your boyfriend!"

She put a hand on her hip, stopping at White's door when he walked in. "I would've admitted it if you'd _asked_."

"What fun would that be?" White said, tossing his stack of papers on the desk and sitting in his worn out leather chair. "Now, what do you need?"

Lana couldn't remember for a moment. She cleared her throat, trying to regain composure. "Clark won't be coming in until later in the day."

White gave her a hard stare. "Why?"

She stared right back. "According to Human Resources, he doesn't need a reason. He's taking sick leave—he's never used a single hour of it, so that's all you need to know."

White looked at Lana's hair, then her makeup-less face. "Let me guess, he's suffering from exhaustion."

An exclamation mark popped up in Lana's head. Oh no! Could White know that Clark was . . .

White continued with a sly smile. "I can't imagine why."

Lana huffed and folded her arms. "Mr. White! I have nothing to do with Clark being exhausted! I mean, _ill_. I just came to deliver the message that he's taking the morning off."

"_No_ he's not," White said, leaning forward on his desk.

"_Yes,_ he is," Lana said, stubbornly.

"_No_ he's not," White said again. "Because he's standing right behind you."

- - -  
Clark really wasn't coherent enough to guess what was going on between Lana and White. He'd literally woken up three minutes earlier. He was more than two hours late for work, or in other words, _dead._

"Mr. White, I'm sorry—" Clark began.

Lana spun around to face him. "You don't need to be sorry, Clark. You aren't feeling well—sick leave is yours to take when you need it."

Clark drew back, startled by her reaction. He could see Perry watching them, so he turned his attention to his boss instead. "I just have a touch of food poisoning, no big deal."

"Food poisoning—great story!" White said. "What restaurant did you get it from? Expose them!"

Lana looked between the two. "It was me, actually—I made, umm, _manicotti_."

Unfortunately, one of Clark's father's jokes came to his mind. "And, _maaaaan_, it got me." He glanced at White, expecting a laugh.

No laugh.

Not even from Lana, who looked at him like he was an alien—of the flying-purple-people-eater variety.

"You know, I really don't care why you're late," White said. "Late is late, and the clock is ticking—so get to your desks."

Clark hurried out of White's office, taking Lana with him by grabbing her hand.

"Clark, you should've stayed in bed—you need some rest," she said, wrapping her arm in his and sounding ultra-concerned.

He looked down at her. "Actually, I feel great. Why are you so worried?"

Her mouth opened, then closed again. Then she just shook her head.

Okay, that was trouble. Clark was familiar enough with women to at least know that much.

"Lana, really, I'm fine." He leaned over to whisper in her ear. "My body regenerates its strength and energy quickly—I could lift a building right now, if I had to."

"Then what—it would fall on you, and you'd walk out from the rubble brushing the dust off your pants?" Lana asked, then hurried to throw a hand over her mouth. "I guess I'm the one who needs a bit more sleep. Sorry."

Clark wasn't sure how to respond. Where did that come from? She hadn't seemed one bit shaken up about him being Superman, and now she was suddenly freaking out about buildings falling on him . . . and dusty pants? What was that all about?

To lighten things up, Clark moved her hair out of the way and whispered against her neck this time. "Maybe you just need some stress relieving therapy in the elevator."

She smiled. "Yeah, that would help." But she kept walking toward her desk anyway. "We'll talk about it later, okay?"

Clark put his hands on Lana's delicate shoulders when she sat in her chair. He gave her a gentle massage, then said. "You took care of me all day yesterday—it's my turn to take care of you."

Lana looked up. "Clark, I thought I could help by giving you time to rest. I hope you're not upset that I didn't wake you this morning."

He went to kneel down, but thought he better first look around for Mr. Olsen. No sign of him—thank heaven. When Clark proposed, it certainly wouldn't happen on the news floor.

Clark finally knelt beside her. "I'm not upset. That was sweet, thanks." He gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. "I appreciate you watching out for me—doing my article, and telling White I was sick—everything you do is so amazing, but . . . " he paused, not knowing how to say this without upsetting her, " . . . Lana, you can't always be there to protect me."

"I can try," she said, squeezing his hand.

That's when Clark, Superman himself, was nearly knocked to the floor by the almost feather-weight Olsen boy. "Hide me! She's coming!" Jimmy whispered in a panic. He was pretty much on Clark's lap as he knelt next to Lana.

"Okay, Jimmy," Clark said, squirming. "This looks a bit awkward—let's uhh, go over to my desk, and—"

"No! She's coming that way," Jimmy said. "Ahh! She's probably coming to talk to Lana!" In a flash, Jimmy climbed over Clark's knee, pushed Lana's chair out of the way—with her in it, and scurried like a mouse under her desk.

Clark and Lana were both stunned to silence. Boy, Clark thought that _he_ used to be shy. Jimmy classified the trait as a special ability.

Soon, Heidi was at their side. "My goodness, have I interrupted another one of your proposals, Clark?" she asked, laughing as she looked at him, still kneeling—but rather awkwardly.

"Yep, one of the many," he said with a smile, standing and trying to block the space under the desk. Lana's chair started sliding forward—without her help. Clark took a quick peek to find Jimmy tugging on the legs of the chair.

Lana smiled up at Heidi, obviously to distract her. "So, what's going on?"

Heidi looked down the aisle of cubicles. "I thought I saw Jimmy walking this way. I wanted to see how he was feeling."

Both Clark and Lana shrugged their shoulders, looking completely silly. "No Jimmy here," Lana said. "He might be in the break room."

"Yeah. Maybe I'll try there—thanks," Heidi said, walking off.

They watched until she was out of sight, then Lana whispered, "Clark, could you, umm, help me . . . " she pointed to where Jimmy was, " . . . he's got a death-grip on my leg!"

**Chapter 33**

_-The Daily Planet News Floor - Downtown Metropolis -_

"Sorry about the claw marks, Lana," Jimmy told her. Clark had finally convinced him to come out from under Lana's desk.

"No problem," Lana said, feeling sorry for the poor guy—but a little upset that she wouldn't be able to wear a skirt for a while due to the long red streaks running down her leg. "I don't get this, Jimmy. Heidi obviously wants to get to know you, so why are you running? You gathered up the courage yesterday to talk to her—"

"But you saw what happened! I passed out cold!" Jimmy said, straightening out the bowtie he had so _wrongly_ chosen as an accessory today. "I haven't passed out since the first time my dad told me I could go to ComicCon."

"The _first_ time, huh? Do you go to that conference _every_ year," Lana asked, a bit nervous for the answer—for Heidi's sake—picturing Jimmy dressed up as Mr. Spock.

Pointed ears were an even worse accessory than bowties.

It seemed that Clark already knew the answer, giving Lana a sideways glance that suggested she shouldn't have brought up the topic.

"Oh, HECK YA!" Jimmy said, his eyes bulging to the size of hard-boiled eggs. "I wouldn't miss it. I'm the world's _biggest_ science fiction fan—really, I am. I have hundreds of photos from this year's ComicCon in my backpack right now, want to see?"

Lana gave an toothy grin, looking to Clark. "Well . . . "

"Gosh, Lana has to get back to work—she's due at the television studio soon," Clark said, gripping Jimmy's shoulder, "but I'd _love_ to look at them."

"Saaaweeeeeeeeettt!" Jimmy said, waving Clark toward the hall. "My backpack is in my dad's office upstairs. He'll be happy to see you."

"Your _dad's office?_" Clark asked, almost with a moan.

Lana gave him a wink. "Wow, Clark—_two_ Olsens to entertain you. What a treat."

Jimmy nodded. "We're a fun bunch, aren't we?"

"Yep—a whole barrel of monkeys," Clark agreed, following Jimmy.

Lana suddenly thought of something and chased after them. "Clark, I forgot—can I borrow your cell phone?"

He squinted, slowly reaching into his pocket.

"I need to call Chloe . . . about, well, some girl stuff . . . a sale this weekend, on everything _red and blue_," Lana said, realizing that she hadn't had a chance to tell Clark that she knew about Clark & Chloe's cell phones being so hi-tech.

"Ohhhh . . . kay," Clark answered, giving her the phone. "I'll see you a bit later then."

Lana smiled, raising on tiptoes for a quick kiss. 

Jimmy threw both hands over his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to look! Oh my gosh, I didn't know you two did stuff like that. I mean I knew you were Clark's girlfriend, Lana, but _holy heck_, I didn't know you KISSED!"

Clark actually had to pry Jimmy's hands from his face. "It's okay. We're done now. Didn't mean to make you so uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable?" Jimmy asked, his face beat red. "Uhh, no. I'm fine. I've seen it in movies and stuff, and my parents, you know . . . "

"Okay, let's stop there," Clark said. "We need to get to your dad's office, remember?"

With that, they were headed toward the elevators, and Lana turned back to her desk. When she got there, Perry White was waiting for her.

Playing it as cool as she could, she said, "Do you need me, Mr. White?"

"Apparently not as much as someone else does," he said. "Follow me."

Lana swallowed. "No problem."

She entered White's office for the second time that morning and he motioned for her to sit in the chair opposite his own across the desk.

What did he mean . . . 'someone else needed her'? Was he talking about Clark? Was Lana losing her job because she had earlier argued with White over Clark's absence?

"Miss Lang—" White began, but his cell phone started ringing. "Where is that blasted thing? Didn't have it all night—" he muttered, looking under his desk, where the noise was coming from.

At last, he looked at the display screen of his cell, said, "Oh, hold on a minute," to Lana, then took the call.

"Hey there, big guy! How's grandpa's buddy today?" White said, in a tone that Lana had never heard coming from him. White was obviously uncomfortable with his softer side, because he had turned around and faced the window. "Yes! I saw him on TV . . . I know, amazing! . . . Yep, the trees were sure big . . . yep, lots and _lots_ of water . . . How's it going today—you being my tough little man? . . . just alright, huh? Well, Grandpa will be there after work tonight, as always. And we'll get you feeling _great!_

After White said goodbye, he sat with his back toward Lana for what seemed an eternity. She thought it might be best to excuse herself—there was suddenly something about the mood in the room that felt very . . . _private_.

Just as she was about to stand, White turned back, "All right . . . let's see, where was I? Ahh, yes, rumor has it that you'll be offered the highly coveted primetime newscaster position, so I need to know where you stand on that? Do I need to start looking for a new reporter, or not?"

Lana couldn't speak.

"From the look on your face, it seems that you're the only one who hasn't heard the rumor," White said.

She shook her head. "No. I haven't heard anything at all. Are you sure it's _me_ they're talking about?"

"Well, in the words of most men in this building: Long dark hair, sparkling smile, body by Barbie, answers to the name of Lana—yeah, it's you."

Lana dropped her gaze to her lap. "Wow. I, uhh, umm . . . really?" She didn't dare believe it. It was what she'd always wanted, but because of a certain professor in college—who couldn't keep his eyes, or hands, where they belonged, Lana had changed from Broadcast Journalism and set her sight on print.

"Don't be so surprised, you've been praised since the moment you stepped in front of the camera—people love you," he said. "But again, my question is, will you take the job?"

Lana's first impulse was to scream, _Yes!_, but instead, she clasped her hands together, and replied, "I'm not sure. I'll have to think about it." She knew right then that there was nothing to think about—she _couldn't_ take the job. It would mean giving up the few remaining hours she had each day with Clark.

Now she had _three_ things she had to speak with Chloe about, and she could hardly wait.

Lana continued, "After I receive the official offer, I'll weigh my options, and get back to you."

White sighed, then gave a sturdy nod. "I'll only say this once, and don't you dare tell anyone I said it. I apologize for being so on edge this morning—you didn't deserve it, you're a great reporter—which is why I hate the fact that the news station is trying to steal you from me. And Clark doesn't deserve my badgering either, for that matter, but honestly, this is the first time in my career that I don't want to be at work, and I've been in a pretty grumpy mood lately. Grumpier than normal, at least."

Lana was once again stunned. "Well, uhh . . . thank you. I'm sorry as well. I came in defensive because I was expecting a fight. Clark works harder than you know."

"Actually, I know how hard he works," White said. "That's why I push him so hard—he's brilliant. I want him to be the best he can be."

She smiled. "I wish you'd tell _him_ that."

"Nah. He'd lose all respect for me," White said, with a smirk. "Feel free to pass it along, but if he asks me if I said it, I'll fervently deny."

"Fair enough," Lana said with a nod. "Is that all?" She was in a hurry to get to the broadcast studio for her afternoon assignment.

White tapped a pencil on his desk. "No," was all he said, continuing to tap.

Lana shifted in her chair. "What else do you need to tell me?"

White looked hesitant, which was _so_ unusual for him. "How do you always seem to know where Superman is?" he asked.

Suddenly feeling like a million heat lamps were over her head, Lana cleared her throat. "What do you mean? How could I know where Superman was at all times?" _Twenty-nine floors up, in Mr. Olsen's office,_ her mind spat out at her. "He's faster than a speeding bullet . . . stronger than a locomotive . . . can leap the tallest buildings in a single bound. How could I keep up with _that_? I barely passed my gym class."

Okay, that was a lie, but she was desperate.

"Well, for a girl who barely passed gym class, you're mighty good at jumping to conclusions," White said, rather perplexed. "What I meant is, do you simply use a police scanner to track him down at the scene, or do you have another way to contact him?"

Lana relaxed—sort of. "Mr. White, if I had another way to contact Superman, I'd be the headlining story of the year, wouldn't I? So, yes, I merely use a police scanner."

He looked disappointed, then shrugged. "Just thought I'd ask. You can go now."

There was no way she could leave. "I thought we settled the fact that Superman is every bit as honorable as he seems to be. I gave you article after article about what I saw—he's _not_ a criminal. You're not going after the story on your own, are you?"

Again, White hesitated. What was going on with him? "We're on better terms now than we were earlier this morning, Miss Lang, but we still have professional boundaries."

Meaning that it was none of her business, or so he thought! Urggg!

"You're right," Lana said with a falsely pleasant smile, just as White's desk phone started ringing.

She certainly wasn't about to let this go. Clark would be told about it the first moment she saw him.

"Oh, I don't have time for this," he mumbled, looking at the caller ID as he picked up the receiver. "Good morning, Mr. Olsen. How can I help you? . . . Who? . . . Clark Kent? How did he find his way up there? . . . Oh, your son. Well— . . . the rest of the morning . . . whatever you say, just remind him that his article on the election primaries was due yesterday . . . No, he's not writing about Superman. We have other reporters writing about him, why would I want Kent to do it? . . . Oh? Well, that's a logical reason, isn't it?"

A few moments later, White hung up, laughing. "You won't believe this!" he said to Lana as she was nearly to the door. "Mr. Olsen says he wants Clark to do a Superman exclusive," he laughed again, slapping the desk. "And his reasoning? Because he thinks Clark and Supes _look enough alike to be brothers,_ and he wants them to meet!"

Lana's knees gave out and she grabbed the door for support.

**Author's Note ….. Readers on this site are nearly caught up now to where I am currently writing on some other sites. I'll post two chapters every couple of days this week, then there will be a new chapter each week from then on. Thanks so much for your nice comments! Please keep posting reviews, it's the only way for me to know when people are done reading what I've posted, so I can write some more.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 34**

_-Mr. Olsen's Office - The Daily Planet - Downtown Metropolis -_

When Clark entered Mr. Olsen's office, his five senses went into overdrive. There was far too much to take in. Among the larger attractions were a stage with a karaoke machine—for practice, Clark supposed, a full size trampoline, and most apparent, a theater screen on his wall playing the footage of Superman's adventure with the trees the night before.

Mr. Olsen was jumping on the trampoline as he watched. Clark couldn't figure out what his spastic movements were all about until Mr. Olsen said, "You big bad bully flood! I'll stop you! You're no match for these bone-crushing muscles! POW!" Then came the smack-down. "WHAM! BADDA BING BADDA BOOM!"

"Badda . . . bing . . . badda . . . boom?" Clark mumbled, utterly stunned.

"Dad, I don't think that's a superhero expression," Jimmy said.

Mr. Olsen spun around with a giant bounce. "Of course it is," he said, seeming completely undaunted that he'd been discovered acting in such a way. To add to the bizarre scene, he was wearing yellow tights, purple boxers, a black tank . . . and most amusing of all—a snorkeling mask. He pushed the mask to the top of his head. "It's _my_ superhero expression, son. I'm going to be Superman's sidekick."

Clark usually didn't struggle too much to hold in his laughter, but it was impossible to hold back a loud moan—a long drawn out, "Uhhhhhhhhh ……." When Mr. Olsen and Jimmy looked at him with disappointed eyes, Clark hurried to say, "Uhhhhhhhhnnnnnbelievable. Wow! Sounds great."

"Dad, that's your best idea ever!" Jimmy said. "Geez, can you imagine that, Clark?" (He was trying his hardest not to.) "My own dad as Superman's sidekick! Sweeeeet!"

Clark had to put a stop to this right now. "I didn't realize you had superpowers, Mr. Olsen. Isn't that a requirement?"

Both Jimmy and Mr. Olsen laughed. "When was the last time you read a comic book, Clark?" Jimmy asked.

Clark scratched his head. "Umm. Not sure."

"Sidekicks rarely have superpowers, silly," Mr. Olsen said. "They specialize in gadgets and trickery! And that's how I plan to assist the most incredible superhero of ALL TIME!"

Clark found himself with a huge grin. "Of all time, huh?" He shook his head, trying to refocus. "You really think Superman deserves such a title?"

"What?" was the stereo effect reply from both Olsens.

"Didn't you see this footage, Kent?" Mr. Olsen asked, waving his arms frantically in the direction of the movie screen.

"Sure," Clark answered. _Had a front row seat._

"Well, watch it again!" Jimmy said. His father had already bounded off the trampoline and grabbed a remote.

Mr. Olsen pushed rewind and a giant version of Supes popped up on the screen. "I had my film editor enhance the footage—look at those biceps!"

Clark didn't mean to, but he smiled again. "Yeah, huge. He probably has nice abs, too."

Jimmy pulled his shirt up. "Look, I've been working on mine."

"I can see that," Clark said, lying as he examined Jimmy's very skinny, white as milk, tummy. His ribs actually stuck out further than his abs.

Mr. Olsen had removed his shirt entirely, and was flexing. "What do you think? Will I make the try-outs?"

"Try-outs?" Clark said, afraid to ask.

"I'm sure he'll hold tryouts for his sidekick, Kent," Mr. Olsen answered. "Wouldn't you, if you were a superhero?"

"Well . . . ."

"Holy macaroni! I have the most amazing idea!" Mr. Olsen interrupted. "The try-outs should be a reality show!"

Jimmy started clapping his hands, whereas Clark couldn't even move his.

"I can finance it!" Mr. Olsen said, bounding up and down just as high as before, only this time he wasn't on a trampoline. "We'll get a production team together right away. We'll hold auditions all around the world! And Superman will be the judge. It's perfect!"

Clark needed to sit down. His stomach was cramping like he'd stumbled onto a mountain of Kryptonite. He found a chair and took a seat. "I'm not sure Superman would go for that."

"Why not?" both Olsens asked, seeming crushed.

Clark took a deep breath, hoping he could somehow muddle through this. "Well, for one thing, he doesn't really look like he needs a sidekick," he said, pointing to how Supes was ripping trees out of the ground like they were small weeds. Clark had to admit he looked pretty darn tough. It was the first time he'd _watched_ himself do something so heroic.

"True," Mr. Olsen said with a sad nod. The poor guy looked like a kid who'd dropped his ice cream cone into the dirt.

"And . . . " Clark continued. "I'm _sure_ he'd love having a sidekick as dedicated as you are, Mr. Olsen, but Superman has a real concern for the well-being of others, so I don't think he'd be able to do his job if he felt he had to worry about villains attacking his wingman."

"Oh, but I'd—"

"I know. You could definitely take care of yourself . . . on most occasions," Clark said, standing to put a hand on Mr. Olsen's bony shoulder. "But what about bullets? Criminals have a tendency to get all crazy with those, you know?" Clark had to use the threat of weapons, since he knew Mr. Olsen didn't like them.

Mr. Olsen's jaw dropped. "I forgot about bullets. I couldn't do much against a gun, could I?"

"But he'd kick some butt in a kung-fu match, I'll tell ya," Jimmy said, high-fiving his dad. Mr. Olsen wasn't very responsive, with nearly a full pout.

"I bet you would," Clark said, feeling awful that he was ruining Mr. Olsen's fantasy. "But, do you know how you could help Superman the most? By continuing what you do, to expose criminals through your paper and news studio. I know you have a heart of gold, Mr. Olsen, so you could be Superman's _secret_ sidekick—not even he would need to know all the good you do to keep the streets of Metropolis safe."

"A _secret_ sidekick, huh?" Mr. Olsen said, rubbing his chin. "That wouldn't include any bullets, would it?"

Clark shook his head. "Not a single one."

Mr. Olsen suddenly frowned again. "But what about a costume? I was really looking forward to that." He pulled down his snorkeling mask, which Clark then realized had a prescription lens, making Mr. Olsen's eyes look bugged out, and his nose enormous.

Clark couldn't help but smile. "The best disguise would be for you to come to work everyday in your regular suits—that way, no one would _ever_ suspect you."

Mr. Olsen nodded his head slowly at first, then smiled. "Clark Kent, you are a genius like no other I've met. You have a disguise, too, don't you?"

Clark's brain froze.

Mr. Olsen's buggy eyes formed huge tears. "I admire you so very much! You march into work every day in your silly plaid shirts, just to throw everyone off—make them think you're nothing more than an uneducated farm boy who got lucky." Clark looked down at his favorite plaid shirt, swearing to burn it. If Mr. Olsen thought that way of his shirts, what must everyone else be thinking? "But what you really are is a hero!"

"I am?" Clark asked with a croak, forgetting all about his shirt.

"Yes, my boy!" Mr. Olsen said. "Your humility makes you a hero! I've watched you these past years, if you haven't noticed. You're smart enough to be doing more with your life, but instead, you sit in a cubicle and write articles about sewer drainage." He didn't actually write that article, but now wouldn't be a good time to admit that. "And you do this for an editor who doesn't appreciate your talent. What you need is your _big break_. You need to present the story of ALL stories! You need to do a SUPERMAN EXCLUSIVE! Sit down with him, in front of a camera, and ask him all the questions people are dying to know!"

Clark couldn't breathe, he really couldn't.

"I'm calling Perry White this very instant to let him know," Mr. Olsen said, beaming.

"Maybe we should wait on that," Clark said, finding the words out of desperation. "There are two other reporters—Lana and Lois—who do all the Superman stuff. I'm just, uhhhhhhhhh, I'm perfectly happy writing articles on sewer drainage, Mr. Olsen. Really, I am."

"Hogwash!" he said. "There he goes again, Jimmy, acting all humble."

Jimmy nodded. "Tell him what you said last night, Dad. It's funny."

Mr. Olsen laughed. "Oh, yes, yes! You're gonna love this, Kent," he said, aiming the remote toward the screen again. "Watch this close up of Superman's face."

Clark didn't know what to expect, once more collapsing in the chair. 

"Here it is! Look at that jaw line," Mr. Olsen said, running up to point with his long finger. "It's _identical_ to yours! And that thick hair of yours—that I'm so blasted jealous of, since I have so little of my own—why, Superman has the exact same mop on his head."

Clark was long since gone, his mind spinning like wheels on a race car.

Jimmy laughed. "I have no idea where he gets this, but he thinks you two could be brothers! Funny, huh?"

"Hysterical," was the only word Clark's mouth could form.

"Because if you look closely," Jimmy said, running up to the screen to join his dad, "Superman's jaw is much more square than yours, Clark—and his chin sticks out further. And I have no idea, Dad, why you think their hair matches. Superman slicks his back, and Clark doesn't even look like he combs his."

"I don't," Clark said, shaking his head.

Mr. Olsen looked between Clark and the enhanced still shot of Supes. "Why can't you see what I see, Jimmy? They look like brothers to me. And that's the excuse I'll use with White to have you two meet."

Clark thought to say that he'd already met Supes, so it wasn't necessary, but with Mr. Olsen, he knew that would open up a whole new can of worms—the size of giant anaconda snakes. Could Mr. Olsen really care about him enough to start seeing through his disguise? This was crazy!

As Mr. Olsen dialed down to White's office, Jimmy said, "Hey, can I go to the interview with you, Clark? I'm dying to meet him."

Mr. Olsen smiled. "We'll all be there, son. It will be one big super-powered party."

More like a super-powered funeral, Clark thought, sinking down in his chair.

On top of all this, Clark had to worry about meeting with Lois tonight—as Supes, and also try to figure out what was bothering Lana. When he thought back, she seemed nervous to tell him something when they were visiting Smallville. If that was the case, it didn't have anything to do with him being Superman. So what was it? He was determined to ask her straight out—that very night.

**Chapter 35**

_-The Roof of The Daily Planet - Downtown Metropolis -_

"Hey, Clark. About time you called me back," Chloe said, seeing his name on her caller ID.

"It's actually me, Chloe. I have Clark's phone," Lana said, sounding like she was in a wind tunnel. "I need to talk, do you have time?"

"Sure. Are you on the roof?" she asked.

"Yeah, I needed some privacy. This is serious stuff, and I can't even talk openly in my own apartment because I'm always afraid Lois will overhear . . . and trust me, there's not one thing in this conversation that Lois would be happy about."

"Well, Lois isn't happy about much lately, anyway," Chloe answered. "But what's on your mind? You sound stressed."

"I am," she said. "And out of nowhere. I was fine with this whole superhero thing until this morning, and now that everyone is talking about Superman nonstop, I'm losing my mind. I keep feeling like people are looking into my head and reading my thoughts. And I'm worried that I'll somehow spill his secret . . . so I'm walking around on-guard all the time. I'm being an overprotective psycho with Clark—I made him sleep in, then argued with White about it. I'm going nuts! What's wrong with me?"

Chloe couldn't help but laugh, quietly. "You poor girl, I remember those days," she said. "I know exactly what you're going though, and it will pass. I promise."

"Really? It's normal?"

"Well, nothing about your life will be _normal_ if you're with Clark, that's for sure," Chloe answered. "But the way you're feeling is just how I felt after I found out Clark's secret. The worst part for me, though, was that Clark didn't know I knew for another six months, so I was walking around like a ticking time bomb, needing to talk to someone about it—get my questions answered—and there was no one there!"

Lana sighed. "That must've been awful."

"At times."

"Wait," Lana said. "Didn't Clark _tell_ you about his abilities?"

"Nope. You're the only one he's ever told. I had to secretly see him catch a car, and even after all my hints, he still wouldn't fess up."

Chloe was sure Lana was smiling, knowing she was the only one Clark had chosen to tell, but Lana wasn't one to rub mud in someone's face.

"But I love him so much, that I saw through his disguise," Lana said after a few moments. "So he really didn't have a choice, did he?"

"Of course he did. You're not the first girl to be completely smitten with Clark Kent, trust me. But whenever Clark dated girls who were falling for him, and he obviously didn't feel the same about them, he backed off—big time. He's never let anyone get as close to him as you have. It was very much a _choice_."

"And I suppose he set it up so I had an opportunity to see him in the suit—Supes could've kept avoiding me if he had wanted, too," Lana said, reassuring herself.

Chloe didn't know the details of how Clark revealed his secret, so she asked, and Lana gave her the romantic scoop. Lana also told her how the night ended, with Mr. Olsen being chased down by the police.

"I read Clark's article on that!" Chloe said, still shocked. "I've left a dozen messages for Clark about it, but he hasn't returned my calls yet."

Lana laughed. "Sorry, that's my fault. I've taken up every extra moment he's had. He probably hasn't even heard your messages."

"Figures," Chloe said. "I should've known Clark would be this spacey when he was in love. He's bad enough when he only has his laundry to think about."

"That's another thing I'm having trouble with, Chloe," Lana said. "I hate that Clark has so much to worry about. Even without the Superman gig, he still considers everyone else's problems as his own."

Chloe knew where this was heading. "And let me guess, you want to take as much as you can off his shoulders?"

"Of course I do," Lana answered. "I want to do whatever I can to help him. And this morning I made a total fool of myself. Perry White was late for work, and Clark suspects Lex is blackmailing him, so I jumped to conclusions and set off to find White on my own, because I didn't want Clark to worry about it. And I found White in the freaking elevator. Some superhero sidekick I am!"

"I've fallen in that trap as well, Lana," Chloe said, laughing. "But I've learned thorough sad, dangerous, experience that I should let Supes do his job. If you get involved without Clark asking you, you'll only add to his stress because he'll have to worry about you getting hurt. And believe me, Superman gets himself into some pretty crazy messes, and if his enemies found out that he loved you, you'd be their number one target."

Lana was silent, so Chloe knew she hadn't convinced her yet. She could be so stubborn sometimes. "Look, Lana, the bottom line is this: Clark has his special abilities, I have mine, and you have yours. Clark has the superpowers . . . I can tweak just about any technical situation he needs me to . . . and you do something no other person in this world can—you can _love_ him the way he's always dreamed of. You can be there for him when he comes home at night, and you can make him forget about all his troubles, if only for a few hours. That's a _special ability_ that both Martha and I have wished for years that we had. But you're the love of his life, and that gift only belongs to you."

"Thanks, Chloe," Lana said, sounding like she was crying. "I've told myself all those things, and I truly believed it until this morning, but somehow I lost all my confidence in being as strong as he needed me to be."

"Well, as I said last night, that's what I'm here for, Lana. Call me whenever you want."

"It's nice to have these _super-duper_ cell phones," Lana said with a surprising laugh. "Because I have a couple more things I need to tell you about. The first is that White is up to something with Supes, so we might need your help later on."

"Okay. What kinds of things? And what's this about Lex blackmailing him?" 

Lana told her the full story, and Chloe agreed to use her sources to find out what she could.

Then Lana said, "Next item of crazy business, and I do mean _crazy_—Mr. Olsen wants Clark to do an on-camera Superman Exclusive. How's that for impossible?"

Chloe just laughed. "Gosh, for a farm boy, Clark's sure great at burying himself under a big pile of manure without a shovel."

"Yep, and there's more. Mr. Olsen wants to be there, with his son, and whoever else he thinks to invite," Lana said, snuffing out Chloe's next suggestion for Clark to use super-speed—there's a definite breeze in the room if you're standing too close. "And worst of all, Mr. Olsen is starting to think Clark and Supes look an awful lot alike."

"Noooo!"

"Yeeeeessss! And trust me, if you had seen Mr. Olsen all googily-eyed over Clark lately, it would all make sense," Lana said. "And I talked to Clark after I finished at the news studio this afternoon, and it's the real thing. Mr. Olsen isn't just making a goofy guess. He said their jaw line and hair is identical, which we both know isn't true."

Chloe was in shock about Mr. Olsen, but something else came to her mind. "Actually, Lana, I have no idea what Superman looks like," she said, laughing. "He's looked like plain old Clark to me both in person and in photos since the day he put on the suit."

"Oh my gosh! I hadn't thought of that," Lana said. "I feel bad for you, because Supes is smokin' hot—you're missing out!"

"And so will you, from now on," Chloe said, feeling it truly was a loss that she didn't get to turn off her ability to see through his disguise. It would be fun once in a while to see what everyone else did. She tried once, when she was _really_ ticked off at Clark for something, but it didn't work. She couldn't stop loving the guy, no matter how much effort she put into it. "Anyway, what's next—you said there was some other stuff you wanted to tell me."

Lana sighed. "Okay, I'm pretty sure you won't agree with what I've done, but I at least want to celebrate the _honor_ with someone, so here goes . . . after I finished at the studio today, I was offered the primetime news anchor position."

Chloe's jaw dropped. "What! I know you've been getting a lot of attention for your afternoon specials, but an _anchor position!_ You must be freaking out! This is what you've wanted to do from the beginning! Oh, Lois is gonna die! . . . Wait, what do you mean, you don't think I'll agree with what you've done?"

"Well . . . I said I'd have to think about it, but there really isn't anything to think about, is there? They told me I'd be working from five until eleven, five nights a week. And Clark gets off around six, and his _other job_ usually picks up about ten—so when would I see him?"

"On weekends, you crazy woman! Take the job!" Chloe didn't see what the question was.

"Weekends?" Lana said. "Geez, I can't get enough of Clark as it is, and we sit next to each other most the day, have dinner every night, and, well, can't seem to separate our mouths." She laughed. "So how could seeing him only on weekends possibly be enough?"

"I see what you're saying. Sometimes you have to give up one dream, so you can have another."

"Exactly. And I'd rather turn down the job, than spend any less time with Clark, so I hope he agrees."

"You haven't told him?" Chloe asked.

"Not yet, but I will. I have _a lot_ to talk to Clark about concerning our future, but I have to ask you one more question first, so I can know if it's the right time to bring up my _biggest concern_."

The way Lana said it, made Chloe know this _concern_ was a serious one. "All right, what is it?"

Lana was quiet for at least ten seconds, but Chloe didn't force her to talk before she was ready.

"I know it's crazy that I already have this on my mind, and I don't want to rush him, but . . . " Lana paused for a very deep breath. "Has Clark ever told you that he wants to marry me? I mean, not tomorrow, of course, but in the future . . . far future, or whatever."

Chloe started laughing so hard she couldn't convince herself to stop—as rude as it was. "I'm sorry, Lana, but you nearly just repeated, word for word, what Clark asked me about _you_ last week."

"Really?" Lana asked, sounding relieved. "So he's at least _thinking_ about it?"

"Oh yeah, a lot!" Chloe said, worried that she may be stepping over a confidentiality line with Clark, but these two just kept throwing her back in the middle of their relationship, so she'd say whatever she felt was necessary to push them along. "He's just worried that you'll think you two shouldn't consider it so soon."

"And I've been worried about scaring him off," Lana said, then she was quiet again, unusually quiet.

"You okay? Is that all you wanted to know?" Chloe asked.

"Yes, thanks," she answered. "I need to tell Clark something that may change how he feels about me, something he needs to know before we talk about marriage. I just needed your help to decide my timing—and it looks like it's now."

Chloe felt she should tread lightly—Lana sounded fragile at the moment. "Whatever it is, Lana, keep in mind that Clark's love for you _matches_ your love for him. And if he could reveal to you that he wasn't even a human being, and it didn't change how you feel, then I'd put your trust in him. He can handle it, just like you've handled the _atomic bomb_ he tossed right into your hands. All right?"

"Okay," Lana said. "Again . . . thank you, Chloe. You're amazing."

Yeah, she knew that. But it was always nice to be reminded.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 36**

_- Lois and Lana's Apartment - Uptown Metropolis -_

Lois was feeling feisty for the first time in a long while. This always meant trouble. She hadn't heard from Lex since he came to her apartment, so she was starting to feel like herself again—confident and aggressive. She liked it that way.

She couldn't believe that she'd been so quick to turn to Supes for help. Lois could handle matters herself, she'd been able to all her life. She didn't know yet what she'd do about Lex, but she'd faced his threats before and was still alive to tell about it.

With these thoughts in mind, Lois didn't really need to see Superman that night, but since she had made arrangements to meet him on her balcony at nine, she decided to take advantage of the opportunity by playing a little game.

She'd stand him up, just as he had done to her. Maybe this would finally get his attention.

Lois had discovered that trying to make Supes jealous by hitting on Clark Kent was a ridiculous idea. Not only was Clark completely blinded by the brunette bombshell stuck to his arm, but Clark wasn't the type who could make Supes jealous anyway. Superman knew that Clark was too whipped over Lana to care about anyone else, and he'd _never_ cheat on her, so Lois was giving up her silly plan.

At least with Clark.

Since Travis was out of the picture, Lois would have to find someone new to plant a seed of regret in Supes. Someone more high-profile, hopefully at the cocktail party she'd be attending that night. She had been hoping for a while now to get invited to one of these exclusive events. Every young single in Metropolis had heard about the parties for the arrogant, rich and couture-obsessed. Since Lois didn't fit into the jet-setter category herself, she was clinging to the coattails of a friend who did.

Feeling like a spoiled snob, like the rest of those she'd be hanging around that night, she primped 'till she looked like a cover model, then scribbled a note and taped it to the glass balcony door. It said: _Sorry, Supes. Couldn't get out of attending a party at Nikki Waldorf's place. Ciao!_

There, that would do the trick. Everyone knew what type of guys Lois was bound to run into _there_. Certainly not anyone from Smallville. Lois had dropped the name of the host because it was no secret that the Waldorfs lived in a three story penthouse on the top of Park Tower, only one block from Lois' apartment.

Just saying Nikki's name would be enough to make Supes curious about _who_ had invited Lois to the party. Even though it was just an old college roommate, Supes was sure to think it was a guy . . . maybe a hip entrepreneur, or an heir to a vast fortune. What was a superhero compared to that? Supes had never even taken Lois out for dinner, so what good did he do her?

That Pulitzer she'd planned on certainly hadn't worked out! And neither had the book!

What a stinking worthless boyfriend Supes had been, Lois thought, while applying her lipstick. Still, she wanted him back—at least long enough to dump him herself. With all the attention he was getting from this flood business, boy, would _that_ be a story! She'd make the front page of every paper in the nation.

Since Lois was sure Supes would zip by the party to spy on her, the note on the patio door was necessary to divulge where she'd be—otherwise, she would've stood him up cold, as a cruel dose of payback.

And most importantly, Lois had to make sure guys were hanging all over her throughout the night, so when Supes took a peek, he'd see enough to remind him of what he'd lost.

Lois, however, would be the first one to do a bit of uncover work, so she could see his disappointed face when he read the note saying she wouldn't be there to meet him. Lois' friend had told her that they would be using the telescopes on Nikki's balcony observatory to watch a comet that was expected tonight. All Lois would have to do is casually turn a telescope toward her own balcony around nine.

The reason she knew this would work was because she'd used the same trick in reverse before, to catch glimpses of Nikki Waldorf's other socialite parties. Lois had a perfect view from her apartment, which was nearly even with the Waldorf balcony.

She turned on all the outside lights so she could see Supes' pitiful pout nice and clear, then snuck out. Soon, she found herself feeling like a complete misfit at the party. Her friend introduced her to several people, who gave her outfit the run down with their obviously disappointed eyes.

Lois tried playing the big-time reporter act, but too many people said, "Lois who? Sorry, never heard of you," which really ticked her off. Of course these weren't the type of people who read The Daily Planet, so why should she care?

Well, she did. And one day she'd do something that every one of these stuck-up aristocrats would hear about, and they would then wish they had taken the time to schmooze with _her_, instead of the skeleton framed, empty-headed floozies who were getting all the attention.

By the time Lois was ready to set the penthouse on fire, and call it a happy accident, it was nearly nine, and she had to book it to the balcony if she was going to catch Supes reading the note she'd left him.

Lois pushed her way through the crowd, leaving her friend behind, and found a telescope that a lonely-looking guy was standing at. This would be a breeze.

"Hey, mind if I take a look?" she asked, in her most flirty voice.

The guy didn't even glance up. "This telescope is taken—go find another one."

Desperate times, called for desperate measures. She put her hand on his arm, all seductive like. "I was kinda hoping we could share."

That got his attention. "I'm not interested, not in _sharing_, or anything else. I have a girlfriend."

That was it.

"Okay, buddy," she said. "I tried to play nice, but unless you want your girlfriend crying over your cold, limp body, after I throw you over this balcony, I'd move your upper-class butt. Got that?"

The guy looked up with wide, bewildered eyes. "Loud and clear, femme-Nazi."

Lois had been called worse, so she just smiled. "Auf wiedersehen!" she said, giving him a wave of her hand as he walked off.

She knew she had to hurry, it had to be after nine by now. Lois pointed the telescope toward her own apartment balcony, then readjusted the focus.

The flowing red cape was easy to spot, but Supes wasn't alone on the balcony. Lois could also see long flowing hair—Lana's hair.

Lana was supposed to be having a girl's night out with Heidi. What was she doing back at the apartment so early?

That question left in a hurry, when Lois saw Supes pull Lana closer by her waist. She shrieked, taking a step back from the telescope, then leaning toward it again—trying to refocus, to make sure she wasn't seeing things wrong.

"Oh that sneaky little—" Lois said, watching as Lana ran her hands up Supes' chest. "She _is_ cheating on Clark!" Lois had suspected it at one time, but gave up on the theory the more she watched Clark and Lana together.

And this also meant that she was right about Supes falling for Lana when she first moved to Metropolis! That was why Supes had dropped her like a rock out of nowhere. He only used Lois' tell-all book as an excuse!

But Lana! Oh, she made Lois' blood boil. What a priss Lana was to think that she could have _both_ of the men who had been smitten with Lois before she pranced onto the news floor in her size two skirt.

Clark was about to find out that the love of his life was a two-timing fraud. Lois dug through her purse, pulled out her cell, and dialed Clark's number. Lana was toast!

**Chapter 37**

_- Lana's Apartment Balcony - Uptown Metropolis -_

Clark arrived a few minutes early, as Superman, to talk with Lois. It wasn't the note that surprised him, but the carrier.

"Lana, what happened to the movie?" he asked when she opened the glass balcony door.

"I went to Heidi's to pick her up, but she wasn't feeling well," Lana answered. "So I came home and was planning on staying in my room while you spoke with Lois, but I saw this note taped to the door."

"A party at the Waldorf's?" Clark asked after reading the note. "Well, Lois is certainly moving up in the world."

Lana squinted. "Hmm, she stood you up. I wonder if she'll send you flowers in the morning."

"Flowers?" Clark said, then clued in. "Oh, yeah. I meant to explain that time I had to send Lois flowers from Supes—Chloe told me you weren't very happy about that."

She smiled. "Well, now it's just kinda funny. And come to think of it, there's a lot of things we haven't had a chance to talk about."

"Well, Lois couldn't have ditched me on a better night, because I really didn't want to wait until later to see you. We need to talk about something."

"What?" Lana asked with a subtle smile. "It doesn't have anything to do with me acting like a hormonal lunatic today, does it?"

How was a guy supposed to answer that? "Umm—"

Lana nodded. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Well, I'm just worried that I've thrown too much on you at once," Clark answered. "The last thing I want is for my life as Superman to be a burden on you."

"Clark, you couldn't possibly be a burden on me—not even if you lost the use of your legs and I had to carry you around on my shoulders," she said, looking up with sincere eyes. "I panicked a little today because I was feeling, well, under-qualified. But I had a great talk with Chloe and I'm fine now, I promise."

"Good, because I have another secret to share with you."

Lana didn't even flinch, which surprised Clark. "Okay."

He put on his most serious face. "I don't want to be Superman anymore."

That was enough to shock her. "What?"

"I want to be Batman now."

Lana hit him. "You idiot. I thought you were serious."

Clark pulled Lana closer. "Oh, but I am. You're the one who likes it so much when I wear black. And Batman has such cool gadgets . . . and I'd still get to wear a cape."

"Yes, you look great in black, but Batman _needs_ cool gadgets because he doesn't have superpowers, silly," she said, running her hands up his chest, over his giant S. "And he doesn't look half as hot as you do, and he's not nearly as tough . . . and he doesn't have heat vision, or super-speed—you know what that _blur_ does to me. And you can't forget that, technically, Batman can't even fly."

"Well, that's true. But he definitely _falls with style_."

Lana gave an unimpressed smirk. "Not good enough, I like the real thing. And now that we have more time than I thought we would, can we go somewhere that I've wanted to take you for a while?"

"Of course. Where we going?"

She swallowed, pausing long enough for her eyes to gloss over. "I want to introduce you to my parents."

Her parents? But they were . . .

"Okay," Clark said. "You want to go to Long Island?"

"Can we? I mean, is that too far for me to fly with you?"

Clark had to think about that. He'd never taken anyone that far before, but it didn't mean he couldn't. The doubts in his mind were about the temperature of the air, and the speed he'd have to travel to get there and back before the night was over. He wouldn't dare try it, unless . . .

"We need to stop by my place first, then we can go," he said.

Lana smiled, looking down at her white shirt. "Should I change, so I won't stick out like a glowing satellite?"

"Nope. Trust me, no one will see you."

A few minutes later, they were at Clark's. They had barely reached the living room when Clark sped off, then reappeared in dark clothing—carrying his cape. He put it around Lana's shoulders, and said, "You look beautiful in red. I hate to cover up your pretty face, but I'll have to if we want to make this trip. Otherwise, you'll either freeze or suffocate from the force of the wind."

"Ehh, I'm not really in the mood for that," she said. "I'll go for your cape idea."

Clark smiled as he wrapped Lana up in the cape like a cocoon, then finally covered her face with it. He got a good hold on her, as tight as he could without making her uncomfortable, then super-sped out of his apartment and bolted into the sky. He could usually cover that distance in less than ten minutes, but he had to slow down several times to give Lana some more air under the cape.

When Clark saw the outline of Long Island, he asked Lana to take a look and guide him where he needed to take them.

Lana seemed disoriented for a moment, then pointed out a familiar landmark as they got closer to the ground. "There, by the white church."

When they landed in the cemetery, Clark was surprised by the scene. He'd never been in a cemetery this beautiful. He'd always been afraid of death—not of his own, since he had his doubts that it would happen anytime soon, if ever—but of losing those he loved. He'd seen too much death in his short life, and knew the bitter pain that came from it.

But tonight, this cemetery didn't seem to be filled with the sadness of death, but rather, it felt like a sacred place where the memories of loved ones made the very air warm and comforting. 

"Lana, this is breathtaking," Clark said, looking around at the lush groups of trees and bushes. The moon lit the area with a soft glow, casting gentle shadows across the lawn. "It's so peaceful."

Lana wiggled out of the cape, and Clark turned to help, just remembering that she was practically immobile.

"I know, it's wonderful. My parents used to take me on long walks here. And when I lost them, I thought the place would change—by only bringing me sorrow—but whenever I come I still feel them with me," Lana said. "I think cemeteries are only spooky for those who haven't lost someone they're close to. I love to come, especially at night, and feel that somehow they can see me and know how much I love and miss them. Few people have believed it when I said that a cemetery was my favorite place on Earth, but it is . . . . well, it was, until I went to Smallville with you."

Clark wrapped his arms around her from behind, bringing her close against him. "There will be a lot of favorite places we'll discover together, Lana." He thought of the Fortress of Solitude, which had truly become a sanctuary for him. He could hardly wait to take her there.

She nodded, turning to his chest. "I can't think of a place I wouldn't love, as long as you were with me."

Clark took her face in his hands, searching over it with his eyes and running his thumbs along her soft skin. He gave her a single, gentle kiss, then said, "Lana, I know you've already explained what was bothering you today, but it seems like something else has been on your mind for a while now—like a lingering doubt that you can't seem to shake. Can we talk about it?"

He knew she'd brought him there to meet her parents, but the time seemed right to discuss some other topics as well—especially something that Clark felt couldn't be brought up until he was confident that she was ready.

"Clark, that's the reason I had to bring you here," Lana answered, sounding hesitant, which made Clark's heart nearly stop. "I need to feel the support of my parents, so I can have the courage to explain something to you."

Clark could barely swallow, but he had to so he could speak. "Lana, you're scaring me." Was she going to break up with him? She looked so nervous that it was the only thing he could think of. "If this has anything to do with my life as Superman—I'll give it up. The only destiny I'm concerned about is being with _you_."

Lana looked as though she was trying to smile, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "Clark, the role you'll have to give up is an even bigger one than Superman."

She took him by the hand and they walked down a winding narrow path, to a grove of trees just behind the white church house she had pointed out from the sky.

As they approached a headstone with the title LANG on it, Clark's feet stopped moving on their own. Lana urged him a few steps closer. "Don't be nervous, they're gonna love you."

That wasn't what Clark was nervous about, but he smiled anyway, trying to make this moment what Lana wanted it to be.

"Mom, Dad, this is Clark," she said. "He's the guy I've been looking for all these years. The one I promised I'd bring to meet you one day."

Clark cleared his throat, feeling like he was truly being sized up by her parents. "Mr. and Mrs. Lang, it's nice to meet you."

Lana gave Clark's hand a squeeze, looking up to him. Her moist eyes sparkled with the reflection of stars. She began to tell her parents how the two of them met, and all that they'd done together. She spoke of how they'd been kicked out of several restaurants for getting too carried away.

Clark laughed when he found himself actually getting embarrassed when Lana told her parents how they'd lost his shirt—and horse—the night they first kissed. "Don't tell them that!" he said, placing a gentle hand over her mouth. "They'll file a restraining order against me."

Lana put her arms around Clark, smiling as she tipped her head. "Shhh…… my dad is saying something ……. Oh, okay. He said that they can see how much I love you, so they'll let you get away with it _this time_."

Clark put on his most worried expression, and whispered, "Then maybe you shouldn't mention that time in the loft . . . or in the elevator . . . or—"

"Yep, we better keep all that a secret," Lana said, shutting him up with a long kiss.

They both took deep breaths and remained silent. Lana dropped her chin, looking to the ground, and Clark followed.

Clark held onto her trembling hands, bringing them up to his chest.

His heart was pounding, and Lana noticed. "You've already told me _your_ secret, Clark. So why do you seem just as nervous as I am?"

"Because I'm afraid you don't realize just how much I love you," he said.

Lana's bottom lip began to quiver. "I do, which is why I'm so scared to tell you this."

Now he was _really_ starting to freak out. He wouldn't let her slip away from him, no matter what explanation she gave.

"Clark," she began, followed by a slow, deep breath. "I lied when I told you that the scar I have is just from getting my appendix out when I was fourteen. That's what I've always told everyone the operation was for, but . . . Clark . . . I had cancer."

"Cancer?" he asked, stunned. Then he panicked, "Is it back?" Was that what she was trying to tell him, that she was dying? He grabbed her shoulders, his hands shaking just as fiercely as hers were. "Lana . . . "

She shook her head. "No, no . . . it's not back. I had my annual tests just before I moved to Metropolis."

"Then what . . . why . . . "

Lana continued, "I didn't want everyone feeling bad for me, or treating me differently. The hospital where I was treated was in Manhattan, so my parents said I was going to a private art school there for my last year of junior high, and staying with my Aunt Nell. By the time I started high school back in my home town, I was done with chemotherapy, and my hair had grown back enough to look like I'd just cut it. My friends never knew the difference, which was exactly what I wanted."

Clark was still concerned, but more confused than anything. "Lana, I know there's always a chance that the cancer could come back—but that doesn't make me feel any differently about you. Why were you so frightened to tell me?"

Her tears were flowing freely now, as her trembling increased. "Because, Clark, the doctors had to remove much more than my appendix . . . I can never give you a family."

Clark hesitated for only a moment, then brought Lana into him and held her tighter than he ever had. He could literally feel her pain flow into his own body.

It seemed like the entire night had passed until Clark's heart gave him the words to say.

"Lana, look at me," he said, trying to coax her to make eye contact. "This doesn't change our future together."

She still had her face buried in his shirt. "It's easy to say that now, but it will be different when all our friends start having children . . . and they're shopping for baby clothes . . . and pushing their strollers in the park . . . and taking their kids to soccer practice and dance class . . . and . . . "

Lana went on and on, and Clark suddenly realized that this wasn't just about a fear of disappointing _him_, but that Lana was completely devastated that she couldn't be a mother.

Clark rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head over and over again. Then he said, "Lana, I'll make you a promise, okay." She calmed down, hopefully listening. "Whenever you're ready, you just tell me, and we can start our family. You'll be a mother, and I'll be a dad . . . and we'll shop for baby clothes, and buy a stroller, and go to soccer games, and dance recitals—everything you've ever dreamed of. There will just be a little more paper work involved than the traditional way of having kids. But that doesn't mean parenthood will mean any less to us."

Lana looked up to him at last. "Clark I know you were adopted, but it's so hard for me to imagine that it could possibly feel the same."

"It felt the same to my mother—and my dad," Clark said, swallowing. In that moment, he knew more than ever that this was true. "There hasn't been a single minute of my life when I thought my parents loved me any less than my friend's parents loved them. In fact, they had every reason to not only leave me in that cornfield—knowing where I came from, but to be _afraid_ of me. But they weren't. They gave me the kind of home every child deserves, but few get. And that's what we'll give to our own children, whether or not they have my scruffy dark hair."

She wiped her face. "But I love your scruffy dark hair. I love everything about you, and I can't help but want a little Clark toddling around my house."

"Lana, after all I've told you the past few days, don't you think _one_ of me is enough to handle?" he asked. "Besides, my mom is always telling me how much I remind her of my dad. So, trust me, our kids will probably pick up every one of my bad habits, like it or not."

"_Our_ kids," Lana said, now putting her hands over her face. "Gosh, Clark, how crazy can I be to bring up having children together before we even talk about getting married? I'll be surprised if you haven't skipped town by tomorrow morning."

Clark peeled her fingers away one at a time so he could see her eyes. "Take a look around . . . I _already_ skipped town, but I took you with me. And I'll take you wherever I go in life, Lana, which will sometimes mean that you'll have to be wrapped up like a burrito in a red cape. Not exactly the fairytale you imagined, but I'll try my best to be your knight in shining armor."

Lana knocked on his chest. "Steel armor, that is," she said. "And I don't have a single doubt about you, Clark, I know for certain that you're the man I want to spend my life with."

"That's good, because I'm about to have a conversation with your parents, and if you didn't feel that way you would've been a bit shocked by what I have to say."

She gave him a look of curiosity. "Is this a private conversation? One that I should leave for?"

Clark smiled, turning them toward her parent's headstone. "Yes, it's a private conversation, but there are some things I want you to hear."

"You won't even know I'm here." Lana zipped her lips.

Clark squared up his shoulders, imagining himself on a living room couch, sitting across from them. "Mr. and Mrs. Lang, I'm sure you think your daughter's relationship with me has progressed rather quickly, and I agree, but I hope you know that our love for one another is as genuine as love comes. You see, I was born with extraordinary gifts, but unfortunately, none of them gave me the confidence I needed to accept who I am, and be comfortable with my differences. When I met Lana, however, all of that changed. I've spent my whole life hiding my identity, but each time I'm with Lana, I want nothing more than for her to know who I am—not just know about my abilities, or origin, but I want her to understand my heart . . . what I dream of at night, my insecurities, my weaknesses and fears. I want to reveal not only my secrets, but my whole soul.

"There's no science that explains why two people fall in love, but what I know now is that when it's right, it feels right from the beginning. I could wait a year or more to ask her to marry me, but that would only be to make everyone else feel comfortable about it. We're deeply in love now, and we'll be deeply in love a year from now—even fifty years from now, so why should we wait when we're ready to start our life together? I don't see a reason to waste any more time, we've already been apart far too long as it is."

Clark paused, putting a hand to his ear. "What's that? You don't think we should waste any more time, either?" He nodded. "Okay, then, I guess there's just one question left . . . Mr. Lang, if you give your permission, I'd be the luckiest guy on Earth—or any other planet—to have your daughter as my wife. I promise you that there will never be a moment that she isn't loved and treated like a princess. And I swear that, whatever the cost, I'll always protect her. I'll cook and clean, and change diapers, and drive carpools, and do whatever else she needs me to do to be the man she's dreamed of marrying. So . . . what do you say, Mr. Lang . . . can I ask your daughter to marry me?" Clark took a deep breath, then held it.

He kept holding it, and holding it . . . pretending to listen intently to the whispers of the night.

Lana bumped him, then Clark released his breath, followed by a desperate gasp for air. "Whew! He said yes!"

Lana laughed, then went to speak, but Clark shushed her.

"Oh, what's that, Mrs. Lang?" He listened again. "No, don't worry, I'm not going to pop the question in a graveyard—no matter _how_ pretty it is . . . and no, Mr. Lang, I won't do it in front of Mr. Olsen either."

Clark continued for another five minutes, answering _their_ silly questions and making Lana laugh, but not allowing her to speak. After all, this was a _private conversation._

And no, Clark didn't have a ring yet . . . but he knew which one she wanted.

**This marks the end of where I've written up to Sept 13, 2006. So, from now on, I'll post one chapter every week – usually on Sundays. However, if you like my writing, you could read my completed fic called, "How 'This Time' Will be Different." It's another romantic comedy, but has more adventure/action in it. It's been a very popular one on other sites, with a cumulative total of about 250,000 hits : ) To find this story, go to the Smallville fan fiction area, then sort by: Romance, Rated T, English, Length over 60,000, Characters: Clark & Lana, then Status: Complete. Using that search criteria will take you RIGHT to the story. It has two parts, so make sure you start with part one. Please leave reviews on that story, too, if you like it : ) The real adventure doesn't start until about part 10, but then there are 79 parts after that! Hope you like it. **

**I'll be back soon with another update on this story, Hot Off the Press. Thanks SO much for reading! I really appreciate all of your reviews. They make me want to write more. **

**ajfinn **

**(fyi, for those who are wondering, I'm a girl – just call me AJ)**

13


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 38**

_- The Daily Planet News Floor -_

As if Lois wasn't already ticked off enough after seeing what she had through the telescope, Lana came into work the next morning with an extra bounce in her step. "Morning, Lois," she said. "Nice weather today, huh?"

Usually weather was the only safe topic for them, but it wouldn't be today. Nothing would be a safe topic with Lana now, as long as Lois was around. "Yeah, Lana . . . perfect weather for _flying_."

Lois smiled when Lana stopped in her tracks, her face turning as white as her sparkling teeth. "True, are you going on vacation? Burning up those frequent flyer miles?" Lana asked, wiping away Lois' smirk.

Lois would've continued her quest to make Lana squirm—she always enjoyed it so much—but she didn't want to get Lana too worked up yet. She had to talk to Clark first. The guy hadn't returned her calls . . . not even after she'd left three urgent messages. But nothing, which was so Clark Kent.

"As hard as _I_ work, I need a vacation," Lois answered. "Which reminds me, Miss Workaholic, someone from the news studio was looking for you a minute ago."

It was a lie, but Lois had to get rid of Lana long enough to speak with Clark.

"Oh?" Lana asked. "Who was it?"

"No idea. I'm sure they just wanted to offer you the job of vice-president now," Lois said, with a lighthearted voice.

Lana's false smile turned sour. "Funny, Lois."

Lois kept her perky grin intact. "Come on, Lana. That's not too far of a stretch for a girl like you. Stranger things are happening around here."

This was when Lois expected Lana to run off with her tail between her legs. Lois knew that she hated confrontation, which always gave Lois the edge. But Lana didn't budge, folding her arms instead, in a defensive stance.

"Lois, I didn't _go after_ the news anchor position," Lana said. "I didn't know a thing about it until yesterday morning. I'm not even sure if I'm going to take it."

Of course she'd say she wasn't sure. Gosh, what would it be like to be the prissy-pink-princess? Lois imagined Lana's thoughts to be something along the lines of: _My, my . . . what choices I have! Should I take up a career as a supermodel, or a news anchor? Hmmmm, perhaps I'll try my hand at nuclear physics! Anything is a breeze for ME!_

Lois had worked her butt off at The Daily Planet for years trying to get the news studio to notice her. But all Lana had to do was prance in with her Prada heels to snatch the primetime job from much more worthy candidates.

What was it about Lana that everyone liked so much? Her chest certainly couldn't turn heads—not like Lois' silicon-endowed bosoms could, and her smile was as fake as the handbags sold on the streets of Manhattan.

No one could possibly be as genuinely nice and happy as Lana appeared. She was a fraud and Lois couldn't wait to prove it.

Despite her bitter jealousy, Lois maintained a sweet-as-honey voice. "Let me guess . . . you're not quite sure about the job because you don't want to take away from your pajama time with Clark. How cute."

Lana hesitated, then gave a sassy little smile. "Who needs pajamas?" she said, then walked off.

_Oh, that b!_ Lois screamed in her mind. Lana was about to get her smug attitude smeared right in her face. 

Lois waited for her to turn the corner to the elevators—obviously falling for the lie that someone in the news studio needed her—then Lois ran as fast as she could to Clark's desk, finding him just about to settle into his chair.

"Clark, you moron!" Lois said. "Don't you ever listen to your messages?"

Clark startled, looking at her like her nose had fallen off. "It's been a few days, I guess. What's up?"

"Your girlfriend is _up_ . . . as in, up in the sky . . . with Superman. She's cheating on you! I saw them practically on top of each other on my balcony last night."

Lois almost smiled when she saw Clark's jaw drop. He stared at her for a good five seconds then said, "Were you drinking last night, Lois? Because Lana was with _me_—from about nine until, well, an hour ago."

Now it was Lois who was stumped, but not for long. "That's impossible. I _saw_ them—through a telescope on the Waldorf's balcony—just _after_ nine."

He shook his head. "Seriously, Lois, either you had too much champagne or someone spiked the punch. Lana went to pick up Heidi for a movie, but she wasn't feeling well, so we went out instead. Trust me, Lana isn't _cheating_."

Lois knew what she saw and couldn't imagine why Clark was protecting Lana. What were he and Supes doing? Sharing her? "I don't know what kind of sick game you and Supes are playing. I've done a lot of things in my life, but I wouldn't stoop _that_ low!"

Clark didn't even hesitate. "Are you sure? Does a guy named Travis come to mind?" he said, shushing Lois when she went into denial mode. "And don't you _dare_ talk about Lana like that ever again. You can say what you want about me, but trashing Lana is off limits. And I bet Supes wouldn't appreciate the raunchy insinuation either."

Lois was dumbfounded. Yes, she'd been drinking for a while by the time she went to the Waldorf's balcony . . . and the telescope certainly wasn't well-focused. It was designed to study stars and comets, not spy on a dimmed balcony a mere block away. She knew for certain that she'd seen Supes' red cape . . . and she'd also seen flowing dark hair, but the faces were a blur.

But if it wasn't Lana with Supes, who was it?

"Are you telling me that Superman has a new girlfriend?" Lois asked, trying not to gulp. "So soon?"

Clark nodded. "At least he had the decency to end one relationship before he started another. Apparently, not everyone holds to those standards."

Now that was low! How did Clark know about Travis anyway? Why did _everyone_ seem to know about Travis now? He was such a nice little secret for so long that Lois just about cried when she thought of her fun being spoiled. It hardly bothered her that Travis was working for Lex. Lex could send all the spies he wanted if they were that hot.

"You know, Clark," Lois said, wanting to spit all her venom at him. "Not that this is any of your business, but I confessed everything to Supes and he's forgiven me. I'm sure he wouldn't admit that to you—with his male pride, and all—but he begged me to come back to him. So this new girlfriend of his is just a fling while he waits for my answer. No biggie . . . he'll wait forever for me."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Lois regretted them. Would Clark have the nerve to tell Supes what she said? Dang, why couldn't she just keep her big lying mouth closed?

"Oh really?" Clark said, almost laughing. "Then that's strange that he apparently brought his girlfriend along to meet you last night. I doubt he'd do that if he was _begging_ you to come back to him."

"Well . . . " Lois began, then followed it up with a profound, "Umm . . . he probably . . . uhh . . . " She hadn't considered that. How could Supes be cruel enough to bring her along? There really wasn't another explanation for why he was on her balcony with another woman.

Unless Clark's story was all bogus and he was just trying to throw Lois off to save his shattered ego.

_Stupid farm boy—leave the lying to the professional._

Clark couldn't help but feel a mountain of guilt heaped upon him as Lois ignored him for the rest of the morning. He had a feeling that she was in trouble, and she'd never trust either him, or Supes, if Clark didn't try to smooth things over.

When Clark and Lana had a brief moment together before lunch, Clark told her what had happened with Lois. Lana in turn told him of her own confrontation, and they both agreed that Lois was simply going through a rough time, so they had to be patient with her and not take things so personally.

So, being the Boy Scout that he was, Clark x-rayed the building and found Lois eating lunch alone in the break room. He approached cautiously, unsure of how welcomed he be.

"Lois, I shouldn't have said all that. I'm sorry," he said. She barely glanced up, but he continued anyway. "It's just that this has been coming for us for a while now. I don't understand why you've suddenly become—"

"What?" Lois asked, still chewing on her sandwich. "A belligerent head case? Maybe it has something to do with my entire life falling apart in the last month. Everything I've worked hard for is dissolving to dust. Chloe isn't even speaking to me. But maybe you don't know that since you've probably ditched her, too."

Ditched her? What?

"It might look that way since I spend all my free time with Lana," he said. "But I haven't _ditched_ either of you. I'm just moving on with my life, and for some crazy reason, I didn't realize you'd be so upset about that."

"Look, this has nothing to do with that silly little crush you had on me, so don't flatter yourself," she said, making Clark feel six feet shorter than he was. "I've dealt with a lot in my life, but I've never had the rug pulled out from under me like this. For example, in just the last twenty-four hours, Lana has been offered my dream job . . . you've been given a primetime exclusive with Superman . . . and Supes has replaced me as quickly as a burned-out light bulb. So don't give me your, _'Gee-whiz, I'll fix it,'_ farm boy routine, because I'm more aware than any of you that I deserve every single stone thrown at me. So go live your happy little life with Lana, and accept your awards and accolades for your exclusive . . . you can even use the Pulitzer speech I already wrote."

Was this just a meltdown, or a true psychotic episode? Clark had to wonder.

"Lois, neither Lana or I intended to take anything away from you. I'd be more than happy to pass the Supes exclusive on to you." Boy would he ever, if Mr. Olsen would go for it.

"Sure, okay," she said, but Clark sensed sarcasm. "I'm at the point in my career where I'd just _love_ to pick up the scraps you don't want. And then I'll just casually sit there on camera and ask my ex-boyfriend all about his new love life, and Supes can gush to me about how _great_ it is . . . and then perhaps he can reveal the secrets he would never trust _me_ with, but doesn't mind telling everyone else on the whole freaking planet!"

Bringing that up hit a serious nerve with Clark. He didn't care about the whole loss of romance thing with her, obviously, but the betrayal of her friendship with Supes was still a sore spot. Lois had really convinced him that she cared, and Clark—having the feelings he once had for her—had fully believed she would never betray his confidence.

"Lois, I can't think of _one_ reason for Superman to _ever_ trust you again," Clark said, letting go of his determination to smooth things over. "How would you feel if the personal details you've trusted Chloe with were published to the world? Superman isn't just an alien, Lois, he's a man who feels, and loves, and doubts his place in this society just as much as the rest of us—more at times. He _trusted_ you, and he thought your feelings for him were genuine."

Lois truly looked bothered for a moment, then she just shrugged. "Maybe they were."

Clark wasn't sure how to react. This was the type of crap he'd fallen for _so_ many times with Lois that he was now cold to it. Her sincerity was always the hardest of her emotions to read.

"You're too talented of a journalist to let worries over a past relationship ruin your career," Clark said. "Take my offer to do the Supes exclusive. He'll talk to you, I know he will."

Lois stared Clark down like a bull facing a hundred-pound matador. "No. I don't need this interview to make my career. I can do it on my own."

"Pride and stubbornness won't give you what you want, Lois," he said, trying to calm down so she'd listen. "It's even making you lose friends—people who really care about you."

"The only person who's ever watched out for _me_ is myself," Lois said. Where a normal girl's eyes would normally pool up at this point, Lois held hers wide and determined.

Clark knew better—at least he though he did. "Chloe would do anything for you, and at one point, I would've, too," he said, knowing it was harsh. "But if you stop all this nonsense of trying to break up Lana and me, it can be that way again."

"Are you saying that you and I can't be friends anymore unless I start falling all over myself to cater to Lana, just like everyone else?"

"Wow, you just kept digging yourself deeper and deeper into a big pile of crap, don't you?" Clark said, barely believing that she refused to back off. "Well, the stench is getting unbearable, so if you can't say anything nice, then follow the old Bambi adage and just keep your mouth _shut_. I doubt you'll miss me much anyway, being the 'Socially bassackwards, brain dead excuse for a man' you've always made me feel I am. But Lana has made me realize that I'm worth a lot more than that, so yes, I'll definitely give up our _friendship_ if you continue to treat her the way you do."

"Then let's just get it over with now, shall we?" Lois said. "Because I think Lana is a fake and nothing's gonna change my opinion. And you should re-check your time line last night, Clark, 'cuz I'd still bet money that she's cheating on you."

"Well, she's not," Clark said. "So just drop it."

Lois laughed as she walked out of the break room—making her point loud and clear: Lois Lane didn't _drop_ anything.

**Author's Note: I should be posting new chapters on weekends from now on, so keep an eye out for this Sunday :)**

7


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 39**

_- Lois and Lana's Apartment - Uptown Metropolis -_

Over a month had passed since Lois caught Lana with Superman on the balcony, and Lois still refused to back off. More than once, Lana had discovered Lois following her, listening in on phone conversations, and even scrolling through the call log on her cell phone these past few weeks. But Clark and Lana had been careful not to be even in the same part of town when Clark was in costume. Thus, Lois was still out of luck, and seemed to be more confused than ever.

Lana had put up with a lot, both at work and at their apartment, but she had so far held to her promise to be patient and understanding with Lois. Tonight, however, as she primped in their shared bathroom, Lana was at the end of her rope.

In fact, if she had rope, she would've strangled Lois with it.

"The office gossip is that you're considering job offers elsewhere," Lois said, running a flat iron down her hair.

They'd been looking into the same mirror for five minutes, but these were the first spoken words since Lois had made a snide comment about Lana's jeans in the living room. Yes, her jeans were designer, but no, that didn't mean Lana was frivolous with her money because she felt she had cash to burn.

"No, I'm not considering other offers," Lana said. "I'm still contemplating the details of the news anchor position, that's all."

"The details?" Lois asked, spaying hairspray off target enough that it drifted into Lana's eyes. "What details are you concerned about? The pay? Your hours? Or is it just that the camera adds ten pounds, so you're waiting for vertical stripes to come back into fashion?"

Lana dropped her eyelash curler into the sink and picked up her hairbrush—a bigger weapon. She was _so_ done playing the nice girl. "You know, with all the hippest magazines I see you reading, it doesn't surprise me at all that you know what's in and out of fashion," Lana said, her voice as even as she could manage. "My only question is, why don't you read their articles on social taboos and proper manners? If you did, you'd surely know that both my professional and personal life is none of your business, so do yourself a favor and stop wasting time trying to sabotage me."

"Sabotage you?" Lois said, quickly enough that it sounded like she'd been expecting this confrontation. After all, she was obsessed with baiting Lana for a good cat fight. "I never have to sabotage anyone, I'm just lucky enough to be around when they mess up. Simple as that."

"So, when you can't catch them messing up, what do you do?" Lana asked, brushing through her hair so rapidly that it was flying away from static. "Oh that's right, you start vicious rumors about them—saying things like I'm cheating on my boyfriend, and that I'm talking Perry White into giving me the front page stories so the rest of you are stuck with sections B and C. Gosh, why don't you get a bit more creative, Lois, and say I'm cheating on Clark _with_ Perry White? If you're gonna sling mud, you've gotta make it thick enough to stick!"

Lois' face was the shade of a tomato. Yep, Lana knew that _she_ was the one spreading the ridiculous rumors to make Lana look bad. What Lois didn't know, however, was that Lana already had more friends than she did at The Planet, so they were all racing to Lana and repeating what Lois was saying.

"Well, I thought of it," Lois said with a sneer, "but Perry doesn't deserve to look that bad."

Lana stopped brushing and faced her straight on. Being in a bathroom, her options were:  
1) Turn on the shower, shove Lois into it, and toss in a fired up hairdryer.   
2) Spray a can of styling mousse in her face.  
3) Pop her breast implants with the sharp tip of an eyeliner.

She went for a boring option four. "Lois, why are you doing this? I've never known what I've done to make you hate me so much," Lana said. "Ever since I didn't take your advice to stay clear of Clark, you've tried to make my life a living hell. I don't understand it."

Lois looked taken off-guard by Lana's change in demeanor. "This has nothing to do with Clark—well, maybe a little, but . . . you're just . . . " she paused, her mouth moving but nothing coming out, " . . . you're just a spoiled East coast girl who never had to work for a single thing in her life—it's all handed to you on a silver platter."

Lois had no idea how wrong she was, but what was Lana to say? Wasn't it Lois who had once had Clark handed to _her_ on a platter? But she gave it right back to him—with his head on it.

And was having cancer as a teenager served to Lana on a silver platter? Or how about losing both her parents shortly thereafter? What about being tucked away in the obituary departments of both papers she'd worked for? Where was the glory in that job? She'd just recently started reaping the rewards of her diligent efforts.

That wasn't what Lois wanted to hear though, so what would be the point in listing the woes of Lana's life?

"Lois, neither of us know the struggles we've each had to face," Lana said. "And I'm the first to admit that I don't deserve the luck I've had lately, but I don't consider finding Clark as merely luck. We're _meant_ to be together—we both know it. He's the prince I imagined dancing with as a little girl, and the type of guy I dreamed of taking me to prom . . . he's the one who should've given me my first kiss . . . and he's the man I want to marry and have a family with. _That's_ the reason I'm unsure about being the nightly news anchor. There are other things more important to me now than my career."

Raising her dropped jaw, Lois said a shallow, "Oh."

"I could never express how much I love him, Lois," Lana said, releasing a heavy breath. "Please stop saying such hurtful things that make people believe I'm unfaithful to Clark. He deserves to be seen as a guy who has a woman's full attention, because she can't bear the thought of her life without him—which I can't. And I find it hard to believe that you care for Clark as little as you're acting, so if you can't find it in your heart to be civil for _my_ sake, please do it for his. He has more to deal with than you realize and needs all the friends he can get."

There was a knock at the door which Lana recognized as Clark's, so she gathered her makeup—which she hadn't gotten far with—and left Lois alone in the bathroom with the expression of a lost puppy on her face.

As Lana attempted to apply her makeup in the visor mirror of Clark's Envoy, Jimmy Olsen skittered around the backseat like a nervous turkey on Thanksgiving morning.

"Oh my gosh, I can't believe I'm going on a date—a real one," he said, his eyes just about popping out of their sockets. They were on their way to Heidi's place. "I can't believe she said yes. Do you think we're taking it too fast . . . I mean, we only met forty-one days ago, and I'm already taking her bowling . . . maybe I should've started with something more casual, like, well . . . what do you think, Clark?"

It wasn't easy for Clark to keep a straight face. "Bowling is about as casual as it comes, Jimmy."

"Eek! Really?" Jimmy asked. "Heck, what if Heidi thinks I'm not trying hard enough to impress her? Dad warned me about that. He said I should've made her a candlelit dinner and hired a violinist."

Lana gave Clark a hint-filled bat of her lashes. "Dang. I just smeared mascara all over," she said, laughing. "Jimmy, bowling will be perfect—it's fun, and will give you a chance to talk. Don't worry."

Jimmy's pale skin turned even milkier. "Talk? What if I can't do that with her actually looking at me? We've only _talked_ in emails." He had still been dodging Heidi at every turn on the news floor, still too afraid to face her.

"Unless you brought your laptop, you'll—" Clark began.

"I did!" Jimmy shouted, holding up his computer bag, covered in patches from sci-fi events.

"Ohhhh, well, maybe you should keep your laptop in your bag for now," Lana said. "Just say the same types of things you've said in your emails."

Clark doubted the wisdom in that—Jimmy had shared a few of the emails with him.  
The first one had said:

_Dear Heidi,_

I'm sorry I fainted at your desk, and then on your lap. I hope you don't think I'm a dork. You have really pretty eyes and I want to look at them longer. 

Jimmy Olsen  
(Sometimes I wear bowties, but if you think they're stupid like everyone else, I won't.)

Heidi's reply was:  
_Jimmy,_

I hope you're feeling better. I've been trying to find you at work so we can talk, but you must be a really busy guy. I saw your photos of the fair. Nice job! Most people don't get their work on the front page of The Planet until they've worked here for years.

Heidi  
(Who likes your bowties) : )

Jimmy's answer:

_Dear Heidi,_

I'm glad you like my bowties and my photos of the fair. The kid in the picture puked right after he got off the ride. It was gross so I didn't take a picture of that. I'm really not that busy. You just can't find me because seeing you would make me faint again. That was almost as embarrassing as puking like that kid did at the fair. I'm sure glad I didn't do that.

Jimmy

The two had been passing short messages back and forth for weeks now, but Jimmy had finally agreed with Clark just a few days ago to ask Heidi out. He had Clark proofread the email before he sent it. Clark edited out the part that said: _Don't worry, I'm not gonna try to slobber all over you like I saw Clark doing to Lana in the elevator once. It kinda looked fun, but I don't think I'd do it right._

Following Clark around like he often did, Jimmy had caught the lovebirds kissing when the elevator doors opened before they were ready to stop. And since they were _never_ ready to stop, the odds of catching them in such scandal were increasing each day.

Clark pulled into the driveway of Heidi's home, where she lived with her parents, and said, "Okay, Jimmy, we've gone through this . . . if her parents answer the door, greet them nicely and ask for Heidi. That's all, no big deal."

Jimmy's deep gulp could be heard in the front seat. "Clark, why don't _you_ go to the doorstep? Heidi's parents will be more impressed with you."

Clark could tell Lana wanted to laugh right along with him, but they both knew Jimmy was serious. Poor guy.

Lana turned to Jimmy. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but Heidi said you're exactly the type of guy her parents want her to date, so you don't have anything to be afraid of."

Jimmy squared up his shoulders. "Really? Should I put on my glasses? They make me look smart."

"Dude, don't worry, you look great," Clark said, trying to give him a boost. "Forget the glasses."

"He called me _dude_," Jimmy said to Lana, beaming.

Clark hadn't thought of it, but it was probably the first time someone had done that. He added one more thing as Jimmy's shaking hand reached for the door handle. "Jimmy, believe it or not, I've been every bit as nervous as you are right now. I used to trip all over myself when I saw a cute girl—just ask Lana. So you'll be fine tonight, and we'll be here to back you up whenever you need us. Heidi will think you're great."

Soon, Jimmy and Heidi were in the Envoy, sitting on the opposite side of the bench from one another. Jimmy was practically clinging to the door as Heidi did her best to make him more comfortable. Clark and Lana were chipping in here and there, when necessary, but were trying to give Jimmy a chance to answer her.

"My parents thought you were nice," she said. "They both winked at me when we left."

Jimmy smiled—as close as he had come, anyway. "They . . . were . . . nice . . . too," he said like a robot.

The conversation continued like that as Clark drove to the bowling alley. Clark had only bowled once in his life, so Jimmy wasn't the only one feeling some anxiety. His parents never took him again after he accidentally smashed an entire set of pins to slivers, when he was eight.

The place didn't have Clark's shoe size, so he had to squish into a pair much too small. He tucked the laces into the sides of his feet, since he couldn't tie them up right. Unfortunately, however, they soon came un-tucked and were just long enough to be stepped on.

Thus, the first shot Clark made with a bowling ball ended in disaster. He tripped, and the ball went flying two lanes over.

Whereas others in the bowling alley were laughing and staring Clark's way, Lana just smiled and said, "Whoops—that ball must be much too light for a big guy like you."

She motioned for Clark to follow her and they selected the heaviest weight for him. "Great, now I can do twice the damage," he said with a grin.

When Jimmy and Heidi had been getting out of the car, Heidi noticed his computer bag and said, "No way! You've been to Comic-Con!" That had been the golden ticket to get Jimmy to loosen up and talk. Now he wouldn't shut up, which meant he was finally being himself.

"Did you know Heidi was a Trekker?" Clark whispered to Lana.

She shook her head, picking up her bowling ball. "No idea. She mentioned something about winning a Halloween contest last year for her Mr. Spock costume, but I thought she was joking."

Lana took her turn and Clark marveled at her talent. "Geez, the things you learn about people. I didn't know you were a professional bowler. You just knocked down seven pins."

Lana laughed. "Clark, that's really not that great." She stepped out of the way, and Jimmy passed her and hit a strike with one smooth shot. "Now _that's_ how the game is played," Lana said.

Clark stood there dumbfounded, as he took another look at Jimmy's scrawny arm. He gave Jimmy a nice slap on the back, now knowing why he wanted to go bowling, then told himself that if Jimmy could be that good at this game, surely he could.

Heidi took her turn, doing about the same as Lana, then Clark stepped up with confidence, paying more attention to his laces this time. He wasn't about to make a fool of himself again.

But he did—the ball went straight into the gutter both times he rolled it.

"Damn it!" Clark yelled, frustrated and already wanting to leave. He was usually good at everything he tried, especially anything physical.

"Clark!" Lana said, laughing.

He looked at her with a pouty face. "Something's wrong with the ball. I think its weight is off center."

Lana bit her lip to stop her laughter. "Want to try mine? It works well enough for me."

Clark picked up the tiny pink ball like it was made of cotton. "What do you do with this? Powder your face?"

"No," she said, taking the ball away from him. "I crush egos."

She walked to the lane, focused for a moment, then knocked all ten pins flat.

Lana clapped for herself along with Jimmy and Heidi, then turned to see Clark staring at her with wide eyes, and his hands propped on his hips.

"Now you've asked for it," he said, scooping Lana up and tossing her over his shoulder. "You should know better than to show up your boyfriend. I'll never take you bowling again, that's for sure."

It was Jimmy's turn but he wasn't paying attention—not to the game, anyhow.

After a minute or so of Lana trying to escape Clark's strong arms, Clark went over to Jimmy and said, "Hey, you want me to take your turn? Maybe I could help out your score a little."

Jimmy's head shot to Clark. "No! I'll umm . . . is Lana already done?"

"Not sure. Where'd she go?" Clark asked, spinning to look around. Lana was still pounding his back to let her down. "Maybe she went to the snack bar."

"Clark," Jimmy said, seriously. "She's on your shoulder."

He couldn't believe Jimmy had said that, as if Clark didn't really know where Lana was. He glanced at Heidi to see her reaction—she was laughing with a sincere smile as she watched Jimmy.

"Oh, _that's_ where I put her," Clark said, bringing Lana to the floor. "Why didn't you say anything, Lana? I was looking all over for you."

She grabbed him by his t-shirt and pulled him closer. "Now why would I say anything when I was having _such_ fun?" She gave him a gentle kiss.

"Heck, here they go," Jimmy said to Heidi. "Maybe we should get some nachos."

"Actually, I was hoping you'd give me some pointers on my approach and swing," Heidi answered Jimmy, confusing Clark. How could this game be so technical? You picked up a ball and rolled it down a lane. Why was that so difficult for him?

Jimmy jumped off the bench. "Sure! Not that you need much help—not like Clark, anyway."

"Hey," Clark said. "I just had to warm up, that's all."

They both ignored him as they went to get their bowling balls, but Lana wrapped her arms around Clark's waist and said, "You know, sweetheart, you may suck at bowling, but you're the only guy I know who can run faster than a train."

He smiled with a shrug. "True. That's kinda cool, huh?"

She nodded. "And you're the only person on the planet who could freeze the Great Lakes and move them to a different location."

His brows raised. "Hmmm, never thought of that. Sounds fun."

Lana took his face in her hands, looking into his eyes. "And you're also the only man I'll ever love."

Clark sighed. "Then my life can't get any better than that," he said. "But I _still_ want to hit these stupid pins!"

They both laughed, and continued to do so as Clark made attempt after attempt to redeem himself. Finally, he allowed Jimmy to coach him until . . .

"I hit one!" Clark said, holding a proud fist in the air, as his ball barely nicked a pin before it fell into the gutter. Nevertheless, the pin tipped over, so it counted.

Lana cheered for him—the whole bowling alley cheered for him.

On his second shot, he was desperate to keep feeling the rush of success. He did everything Jimmy told him, then let the ball go. Right away, he saw that it was headed toward the gutter.

He _couldn't_ let that happen, of course, so he super-sped a mere ten feet, set it back on track, and returned to watch the ball slam into the pins and knock the remaining nine down.

The place broke out in applause, and Clark jumped into the air. "I got a strike! I got a strike!"

Jimmy hurried to correct him. "Actually, that was a spare, Clark, but at least you hit something."

Clark turned to Lana, who had a suspicious grin on her face as she applauded. She pulled him down to her level and whispered, "Naughty boy. I know what you did."

He laughed. "Well, those who can't bowl . . . cheat," he whispered back, not one bit ashamed of himself.

"Is that right?" Lana asked. "Then I guess I should be watching you closer when we play cards, shouldn't I?"

"Oh come on, I wouldn't cheat when we play cards," he said, then had to think back. "Well, all right, I _did_ peek just once when we were playing Uno, but that was only because you kept kicking my butt."

Lana smiled. "In that case, if this journalism thing doesn't work out, you'd be _great_ in Vegas."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 40**

-_ The Belly of a Coal Mine - Southeastern Kansas -_

"I'm going to get you out of here, just hold on a moment longer," Superman said to the last of the trapped miners. He'd already rescued ten others, who all survived. This man and another had been in a more remote area and were critically injured. He'd had to attend to them with more care, which meant no super-speeding.

"If I die, please tell my wife . . . and my two sons . . . how much I love them," the man said, fading out with shallow breaths between words. "Tell them . . . I wished I could've been home more—seen every one of their . . . of their baseball games . . . My wife . . . she's so beautiful, tell her that, too."

"You'll have a chance to tell them yourself," Superman said. "Right now I need you to think of the first time you saw your wife. Can you do that?" He was trying to keep the man conscious as he carefully removed debris off his body. He'd already x-rayed him to find how serious the damage was . . . nearly every rib on the left side of his body was broken, and his spleen was bleeding furiously. The rhythm of his heart was slowing, making Superman's speed up. He had little time left.

The man immediately smiled. "She took my breath away . . . her eyes, how they glowed . . . and the way she . . . ahh . . . the way she looked at me, it made me so nervous . . . I was tied up in knots . . . I couldn't speak."

Superman lifted him into his strong arms. "I know just what you're talking about," Superman said, thinking of the first time he'd met Lana on the roof of the Daily Planet . . . how his arms and legs froze up, along with his brain. "Love is amazing . . . it does wonderful things for you, and right now it's going to keep you alive. So keep talking, tell me about the day your first son was born."

He kept the man going for another five minutes this way, then Superman heard a deafening noise—the main part of the mine was about to collapse on them. He _had_ to super-speed now, risking the man's life even more was the only way to save him.

Superman hunched over to block the blows about to strike, then had a better idea just in time. He pulled off his cape and wrapped it around the man, just like he'd done with Lana. In an instant, they were out of the mine, bursting through the Earth in front of a crowd of cheering onlookers and reporters.

Superman placed the man directly on a waiting stretcher, then the paramedics started removing his cape. "It's okay, you can keep it until later, just get the guy to the hospital," he said, thinking Lana would laugh that he was willing to part with his cape so easily.

"We need to remove it to examine his injuries, Mr. ummmmm, Superman," a paramedic said with a grateful smile. "Not all of us have x-ray vision."

Superman nodded, relieved that the injured man was still conscious. "Right, well, he has . . . " He explained the most critical injuries first.

After he'd checked on each of the victims still on site, Superman gathered up his cape. The media ran toward him, which made him want to get out of there right away. That was happening more and more lately, and he wasn't at all comfortable with it.

He answered as many of the media's questions as possible—including several requests for exclusives, which he politely denied—then was about to fly off when a car he recognized came tearing through the dirt, where they were all gathered.

Perry White? Since when did he go so out of his way to get a story? That's what his worker-ant reporters were for.

Superman didn't realize it, but he was staring for several seconds in shock, until White started shouting his name. "Superman . . . please . . . I need to speak with you!"

"We _all_ do, Bozo!" a reporter shouted back.

Superman was caught in a bit of a web—he couldn't show favoritism to White, but was dying to know what he was doing there.

"Okay, I'll answer a few more questions, including your own," he said to White, trying to act like he didn't know the guy from any of the other reporters there.

Questions were shouted again, at the speed of a machine gun. Strangely, White was the only one with a closed mouth, but standing there as impatient as he'd ever seen him. He didn't look angry though, if anything, he seemed absolutely elated. So why wasn't he speaking?

"What's your _real_ name?" a reporter asked.

"Nice try," Superman said with a smile. "My friends call me Supes."

"You have friends?" another asked. "Who are they?"

They certainly weren't getting _that_ information. "Anyone who supports my purpose—to save mankind from devastation and destruction."

"Who's out to destroy us?" was the next question.

"There are many dangers in this universe," Superman answered, having already butted heads over the years with Zod and his seemingly endless followers. "But the greatest enemy to mankind is their own selfishness."

"And greed," White said, finally speaking up.

There were nods all around the circle of reporters. Superman answered a few more questions, then walked past them as if he was truly leaving now. White looked desperate, trying to break through the crowd to get to him.

When he got close enough, Superman whispered, "Start driving, and I'll meet up with you in a few minutes."

White gave a small nod and headed to his car as Superman bolted into the sky. He watched from the air, then when he felt it was safe to descend without being seen, he landed to the side of White's car and ran in pace with it. He knew it was showing off, but the Clark Kent in him wanted to impress his boss, just once.

When White came to a stop, he rolled the window down and said, "Umm, what's the protocol here? Do we need to go somewhere that people won't see you?"

"No, this is fine," Superman answered. "I just didn't want the other reporters to know that I was giving you extra attention. We can talk as you drive."

White gave him a questioning squint of his eyes. "Have you ever been in a car? I wouldn't think they'd be useful to you."

"I actually have my _own_ car," he said with a smile, settling into the passenger side. "I drive it nearly every day." He shut the door, but heard a crunch instead of the normal slam of the door. "Oh, crap! I'm sorry!"

White laughed. "Superman says crap?"

He wasn't the first person to ask that. Sometimes Clark's personality overshadowed his alter-ego's. "Well, in this case 'damn it' would've worked better, because I just shut your door on my cape and now your door is banged up."

Superman got out of the car again, as White leaned over to examine the damage. "Wow. Tough cape you got there. What's it made of?"

Alarms went off in Superman's head. Was White trying to finagle information out of him? He'd have to test out some humor to see how White responded. "It's actually made by Tupperware. You know how indestructible that stuff is."

White stared at him for a moment, then gave a true belly laugh. One that Clark had never heard from him. "For some reason I didn't picture you with a corny sense of humor."

Superman smiled, bending the car door back into shape then sitting in the seat again. "Don't get me going, or trust me, you'll regret it." He was more careful with his cape this time.

White started driving. "It's been a long time since I've had a good laugh," he said. "Too long."

_Boy, isn't that the truth?_ Superman thought. It felt strange to be having such a personal conversation with White. Maybe Clark had always been so intimidated by him that he never took a chance with humor. That was one of the things he liked about being in uniform—he felt free to show more confidence than the cautious Clark Kent.

They shared a few more minutes of chit chat, then White got down to business. "I assume you know who I am, or I would've introduced myself," he said.

Superman nodded. "Of course, Mr. White. I wouldn't trust you if I didn't." He hoped he could trust White, but couldn't stop thinking about all the things Lana had told him—that White had given up on both she and Lois going after Superman's identity, and seemed to be thinking about investigating Supes himself.

White was quiet for a good ten seconds, then finally said, "I'm ashamed to say that I haven't always been a man you could trust. I've given two of my best reporters the assignment of digging up dirt on you, only to find that you're every bit the hero you appear to be."

"Thank you."

"Thank you?" said White. "Forget about the hero part! You should be mad as hell at me—twist me up like a taffy pulling machine."

Superman gave him a smirk. "Well, if you insist," he said. He knew that White wouldn't have admitted that unless he had another reason besides _digging up dirt_, to hunt him down like this. "Now, do you want to tell me the real reason you came to the middle of nowhere to speak with me?"

White hesitated then said, "I couldn't talk to you in Metropolis, so I've been trying for over a month to chase you down elsewhere. Whenever something big has happened, I've raced to get there—sure you'd show up. I even got a flat tire on the way back from Kreukville and had to walk most of the night to find assistance," he said. "But I wouldn't know who was watching me in the city, and I'm in more trouble than I know how to deal with. I need your help."

At least that answered the riddle about the many times White had been late for work these past weeks. And now that Clark thought about it, every single instance was on a morning following a night when Superman was called for duty out of the city. The idea that White had been trying to track him down had never even crossed his mind. And he certainly had never suspected that White would turn to Superman for help.

"What's going on?" he asked White.

White's thumbs started tapping the steering wheel, then Superman noticed that his hands were shaking. "It's my grandson . . . he has leukemia."

Leukemia? That was a form of cancer. "I'm so sorry, Mr. White," Superman said. "But that's one thing I can't do _anything_ about."

"Actually, you can," White answered. "You see, there's a cure for cancer now, but it's only sold on the black market. My son and I have paid every penny of savings we had for the first three months worth of serum, but when the money ran out the suppliers didn't show an ounce of compassion."

Wow, was this for real? "How do you know the serum really works? Maybe it's a scam."

White shook his head, a tear slowly rolling down his weathered face. "It's not a scam. My grandson's health improved dramatically. With the rate of his recovery, his doctor's called it a miracle. He was on the verge of complete remission after just three months of treatment. Of course the doctors didn't know anything about the serum—that's part of the deal with the underground agents. But now, after two months without the serum, my grandson is hanging onto his life by a thread, even with chemotherapy."

Man, this wasn't sounding good from many different angles. "So, you need me to track down the underground operation and then what?"

White looked right at him, his eyes red. It broke Superman's heart, and Clark Kent's, too. "I need that serum or my grandson will die. But they can't know I had anything to do with it, or who it was for, or my entire family will be in danger."

Superman would either have to rob a bank, or steal the serum. That's what White was insinuating, right? How could this be ethically wrong, if it could save a child's life?

Still, it was possible that this could be a trap, as much as Superman doubted it. White could be setting him up to expose him doing something illegal. He was just about to address the possibility, when White said, "There's more. You're already involved in this up to your unbreakable eyeballs."

"How's that?" Superman asked. And then the light bulb turned on. If White revealed what he thought, it would be a sure sign that this grandson story was legitimate—not a set up.

"There's a reason I sent the most recent reporter after you," he said, obviously speaking of Lana. White had no idea just how interested Lana would be in this cure for cancer. "After neither my son or I could come up with more money for the serum, I started receiving anonymous notes saying that I could make a trade—enough serum to cure my grandson, in exchange for using my power as an editor to destroy Superman's reputation."

Though the mysterious note Clark had caught White reading last month was exactly what Supes hoped he would reveal, the details behind it were still stunning. "Interesting," Superman said, as calmly as possible. "Do you have any idea at all who's behind the underground operation?"

Superman sure did.

"No," White answered. "They call themselves The Philosophers." Yep, it was Lex all right. The guy had more quotes from philosophers in his bald head, than a library had on its shelves. But why was he going the route of trying to ruin his _reputation_? Because he couldn't find a way to _physically_ destroy him? "Apparently, they're so vain they believe their brilliant minds will change the world." White continued with a huff. "One dying child at a time."

"That's sick," Superman said. "I'll not only get that serum for you, Mr. White, I'll also find a way to make it available to everyone else—through legitimate doctors."

White nodded, struggling to speak. "I can't thank you enough."

As they drove the rest of the distance to Metropolis, White filled him in on every detail he knew. Just before they reached the city, he said, "One more thing. When my grandson submitted his papers for the Make-a-Wish Foundation, his single wish was to meet Superman."

That gave the man of steel a farm boy smile. "Name the time and place, I'll be there." They made arrangements, then Superman got out of the car and took off like a rocket into space.

He was one very determined superhero, who was definitely about to make a difference.

**- - -**

"Okay, Chloe," Clark said, driving home from work the next day. He had already told her all about his visit with Perry White. She was doing some sneaky investigating. "I have enough for the ring now, all I need to do is buy it."

"Well, negotiate with the salesman, will you please?" Chloe said, already aware of the price tag on the ring Lana wanted. "Twelve thousand dollars is a little steep for a piece of rock."

"But it's pink," Clark said, as if that was a critical bit of evidence.

"So are my fake nails," she said.

"You're really turning into a girly-girl now, aren't you?" Clark said, knowing she was dating a new guy—one who liked a bit more of a feminine edge.

"Don't push it," she said. "That's all he gets. If he comes up with one more prissy request, he'll get these pink nails of mine dug right into his skull. That's a promise."

"Ouch," Clark said, cringing. "That even makes _my_ head hurt, and it's had roofs fall on it."

Chloe laughed. "Then no wonder you're considering buying a twelve thousand dollar ring. You have brain damage."

"Nah, I'm just in love," Clark said. "I've looked around for a more reasonable ring for weeks now, but this is the only one that will make Lana truly happy."

"No, Clark," Chloe said with a sigh. "A girl only needs the guy she loves to make her happy."

"Ahh, that's so sweet, Chloe," he said. "I'll be sure to tell that to the man who plans to propose to _you_."

Chloe didn't hesitate. "Don't you dare! I want a killer ring, got that?"

"Loud and clear."

"Now, how are you planning to propose?" Chloe asked. "Any ideas yet?"

"Yeah, plenty of ideas, but none that stick out as a sure winner."

"Well, let's hear them," Chloe said. "Maybe I can help."

Clark thought of the most promising one right off the top. "I could take her to the place we met—the roof of The Planet."

"Hmm," Chloe said. "That's okay for nostalgic purposes, but why not give her a new location to burn into her memory? My vote is for the Fortress of Solitude."

"I've thought of that," Clark answered. "But I've taken her there twice, so she's already been blown away by it. It wouldn't have the same effect the third time around."

"You dummy. That was a perfect place to propose," she said.

"Not as far as I'm concerned," he said. "Here's the thing, Chloe . . . Lana fell in love with _me_, not Superman, so when I ask her to be my wife, I want it to be like any other Prince Charming would do it."

Chloe waited for a moment then said, "How about a _Suped-up_ version of yourself? Nothing spectacular, but still magical."

"Good idea," Clark agreed. "But still, the magic will be in the details. I don't want to mess this up."

For the next ten minutes, while Clark was stuck in rush hour traffic, he came up with a solid idea and Chloe helped him tweak it. Then, in response to his next idea, she said, "No, Clark! You _can't_ make the wedding a surprise, too."

"Why not?" he asked. "My idea won't have the same effect if she knows about it in advance."

Chloe sighed. "Lana's been looking forward to her wedding day since she was a little girl—just like me," she said. "You can't just blindfold her and plop her in front of a preacher . . . 'Open your eyes, sweetie, we're getting married! Woo hoo!' She needs to pick out her dress, and have her family and friends there, and bridesmaids, and flowers, and cake, and . . . " Chloe went on, and Clark soon felt stupid for even thinking of the idea.

But maybe there was a way he could still pull off a portion of his plan, the most important part. "Okay, then she'll know the date, and she'll get to have flowers and cake and all that fluffy stuff, but I want the location to be a surprise."

Chloe moaned. "Then you better tell her _that_ in advance."

"I will," Clark said, laughing. "Geez, give me some credit. I wasn't raised in a barn."

"That's debatable," she said.

Clark's call waiting beeped as he parked at his apartment complex. "Sorry, Chloe . . . it's Lana. Gotta run." They said goodbye and Clark swapped lines. "Hey, babe."

"Hi! How was the rest of your day?" Lana answered. She had left work early to attend the opening of a new restaurant. White was giving her more freedom with what she chose to write articles about, trying to get her to stick around instead of accepting the anchor position. Both White and the news station were becoming impatient, so she had to decide soon.

"Great," Clark said, taking the elevator to his place on the top floor. "I'm finally caught up on all my articles—for the first time since I started working at The Planet! It feels so good."

"Then we need to celebrate," Lana answered, in a tone that made Clark anxious to know exactly what she had in mind.

Clark unlocked his apartment door. "Sounds perfect. Where should we meet?"

"How about your place," Lana said. She was standing directly in front of Clark when he opened his apartment door. She flipped her cell shut.

Clark was so stunned that he kept talking into his phone, until she took it away from him. "I thought you'd still be at the restaurant . . . " he trailed off, breathless as he looked her over. "Whoa, umm . . . " He gulped.

Lana was wearing a slinky black dress, barely clinging onto her shoulders. "Surprised?" she asked.

"Pleasantly," Clark whispered, shutting the door and approaching her. He kissed her lips, then trailed down her neck.

Lana laughed. "Slow down . . . we still need to eat dinner."

"Can't we skip the formality?"

"No," she said, squirming away and picking up a folded piece of elegant parchment paper.

"What's that?" Clark asked.

"It's the menu from the restaurant opening I had to attend," Lana said, smiling. "Café Kent."

Clark smiled, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek. "Oh? Sounds fancy," he said, then super-sped to his closet and put on a suit—to match Lana's evening attire.

When he was back in front of Lana, she ran her hands down his lapels. "You're the most handsome man I've ever seen, Clark. I almost faint every time I'm with you."

"That's only because I'm cutting off your oxygen," he said, kissing her lips again.

Lana led Clark into the kitchen, and his knees just about gave out from the tasty aroma wafting around him. She sat him at the table. "I didn't even know I owned a table cloth," Clark said, stunned by the scene before him. "Or candles." He laughed. "Or matching silverware for that matter!"

Lana opened the menu and placed it into his hands. "You didn't. But if we're going to make this place our home, it's just as well that we start now." She looked to the kitchen window.

"Nice curtains," Clark said, grinning. "They're not even girly."

Lana coughed. "Wait until you see the bathroom."

Clark had an instant vision of pink and white towels, accented with embroidered roses. He swallowed.

"Kidding," Lana said. "Now, it's time to order your meal."

He turned his attention to the menu and read:

**- Appetizers -**  
_Love at First Sight - Coupled with Fate  
Flirting, Embellished with Patience  
Doubt Smothered by Trust  
Lobster Bisque Salted with Caviar_

-** Entrées -**  
_Secrets Accepted Without Hesitation  
Burdens Lightened By Devoted Companion  
Restless Woman Waiting for a Ring  
Grilled Tenderloin Tips with Portabella Mushrooms_

-** Desserts -**  
_All You Can Eat Buffet of Happiness  
Sugar and Spice and a Promise to be Nice  
Sizzling . . .  
_

The list of dessert options went on, including Fresh Fruit Sorbet, but Clark was too speechless to say them out loud. He looked up to Lana with wide, anxious eyes, "I'd like to order _all_ of this, please."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Absolutely!"

Lana sighed. "Well, some items on the dessert menu are seasonal, so I'll have to give you a rain check."

Clark frowned.

"I suppose I could offer you some samples," she said. "But only if you finish your supper."

He picked up his knife and fork. "No problem. I've never been so hungry."

12


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 41**

_ "Café Kent" - Clark's Apartment _

Lana was thrilled that dinner turned out so well—she'd worked hard to make it perfect. She and Clark were cuddled on the couch, enjoying _dessert_, when Clark's cell rang. When they both ignored it, Clark's home phone began ringing.

"You better get that," Lana said, pulling away a bit.

He followed her lips with his. "Get what?"

She talked between kisses. "Your phone."

"They'll call my cell if it's important," Clark answered, bringing her closer.

Lana laughed. "Is your super-hearing out of batteries? They already did."

"Oh," Clark said, still hesitant to stop, which made Lana want him all the more. Then his cell started ringing _again_. He moaned, reaching for it in his pocket. "How did you hear that and I didn't?"

She shrugged. "I guess men really do have one-track minds."

Clark gave her a playful smirk, glanced at his caller ID, then answered, "Just about to get lucky here, Chloe—"

Lana slugged him.

"Thanks for sharing, Superlips," Chloe said, loud enough that Lana tuned in as well. "But I might have a lead on Lex's cancer serum freaks, _The Philosophers_. One of my contacts in Metropolis says a private investigator has been on the case for a few months now."

"A private detective?" Clark asked. "Who's he working for?"

"No idea yet," Chloe answered. "But the PI goes by Cottonmouth."

"Cottonmouth?" Clark said.

"And here's the twist, my contact says he's at least the third in a line of PI's who've been hunting these guys," Chloe said. "Apparently, there was also a Sidewinder and Copperhead after these thugs. They were both found dead."

Lana was going over the names as Chloe and Clark continued to talk, trying to figure out why they sounded familiar. "Kill Bill!" she finally said.

Clark stopped mid-sentence. "No, I don't think I'll have to kill anyone, Lana, don't worry."

He went back to the phone, then Lana grabbed it away and put it on speaker. "Those names are assassins from the movie Kill Bill, Chloe," she said. "Don't you remember? We watched that show over and over again during that Kill Bill TV marathon." Lana laughed, thinking of how she and Chloe mocked martial arts moves from the show for a full month following the marathon. They called it Lana-fu.

Chloe was quiet for a moment, then said, "Lana, that was _years_ ago . . . it was the day we ordered pizza and met . . . well, you know."

"Spider-Man?" Clark said.

Lana gasped. "You told him, Chloe?" Then she shook her head, thinking how ridiculous she must've sounded. She'd sworn to herself to never _ever_ reveal to _anyone_ that she knew that Spider-Man was Peter Parker—the pizza boy. But this was Clark, so of course Chloe had told him.

Chloe sighed. "Gosh, Clark, I don't know whether to warn you that your girlfriend keeps secrets from you, or congratulate you on finding someone who will hide your own superhero status at all costs."

Clark wrapped his arm around Lana, giving her a soft kiss. "I'll take both," he said. "I'm glad Lana didn't tell me what she knew about Spider-Man—that just strengthens my trust in her. It doesn't matter what our relationship is, she made a promise to someone and she kept it."

Chloe was silent, and Lana jumped in. "Not that this makes _you_ disloyal, Chloe," she said, nudging Clark to agree. "I'm sure you revealed what you did so they could join forces one day, or something." She looked at Clark. "Have you met him?"

He gave a casual nod. "Yeah, but we're just . . . you know, from different universes, so we can't really work together. We have different styles."

Lana placed her mouth next to Clark's ear and whispered seductively, "_Your_ tights are better than _his_ tights."

"Anyway, back to Kill Bill," Chloe interrupted, surely catching on to the silence.

"Right," Clark said. "So what's the story behind the snakes . . . Copperhead, Cottonmouth . . . "

"The movie isn't about snakes," Lana said. "Haven't you seen it?"

Clark bit his lip. "Umm."

"Oh my gosh, Clark," Chloe said. "That's not _humanly_ possible."

"Well . . ." he said with a short laugh. "Kinda explains things, then, doesn't it?"

The girls teamed up on Clark to tell him the story of Kill Bill. When they were done, Clark said, "I'd probably throw up if I saw that show. It sounds disgusting!"

"Umm, yeah," the girls confirmed.

"So, if we've already had Copperhead and Sidewinder on the case," Lana said, "and now there's Cottonmouth . . . we still have a few more to go, including Black Mamba. So let's see if—"

"Wait, you didn't mention Black Mamba, who's that?" Clark asked, getting more confused.

"The Bride," Chloe and Lana answered.

"Oh!" Clark said. "The Bride who was paralyzed in a hospital bed, then decided to jump up and slaughter everyone after she moved her big toe?"

"Yes," Chloe said, seriously . . . like that made _perfect_ sense.

Clark looked at Lana like he thought they'd both lost their minds. "Man, I thought _I_ had issues."

"Not as many as _her_," Lana said. "Trust me."

"So, our first step is to track down this Cottonmouth dude," Chloe said. "Before he gets killed by Bill."

"Or Black Mamba," Lana added. "Either one could be the attacker."

Clark shook his head, like he was trying to clear a thick fog from it. "Okay, where do I start?"

Lana's brows immediately furrowed, a knot of fear tightening in her gut. Everyone else who messed with these guys weren't around to tell about it. She looked away so Clark wouldn't see her unwarranted reaction.

It was too late. Clark turned her face back and leaned her head against his chest, then played with her hair as Chloe told him all she knew from her contact.

When the phone call ended, Lana said, "You better get going." She expected him to super-speed off right that moment, at least to change into his suit, but he didn't. He just sat there, running his hands down her back.

"Lana, I've whooped on a lot tougher guys than Lex Luthor's thugs," he said. "You don't need to worry about me." She nodded. "Everything I've told you is true, I'm pretty much indestructible."

He'd used that line before. She sat straight up. "What do you mean, _pretty much_?"

Clark froze. "Well, you know," he coughed, "bullets bounce off me, fire doesn't touch me, a blade breaks when it hits my skin . . . _That_ kind of indestructible."

That _wasn't_ what she'd asked.

Clark _had_ to have a weakness. She'd suspected it in the past, but was now sure of it. She knew Clark well enough to know that he wouldn't keep a secret from her unless he felt he had to. She didn't have a single doubt, after all he'd revealed, that he didn't trust her. This was something else . . . she could see it in his eyes.

"Clark, I know it would kill you to lie to me," she said, softly kissing his cheek. "So I'll never _ask_ if there's something that could hurt you, but I want you to promise me one thing . . . then I'll feel at peace about it."

Clark hesitated, then nodded.

Lana took a deep breath, having rather had him say she was wrong, whether it was the truth or not. "I want you to promise me that if your life is ever in danger, that you'll let me help you."

He squinted. "Lana, I—"

"Promise me, Clark," she said, trying to sound strong when she was really about to break.

Clark looked like he was fighting a demon inside him. "I promise," he said at last.

- - -

Superman had found the private investigator, Cottonmouth, in the same area Chloe's contact said he was known to frequent . . . but the man had a knife in his chest.

He couldn't reveal what he knew to the police, or it would put his entire investigation at risk, and he also couldn't do anything to tip off _The Philosophers_ that he was onto them.

He had to get the cancer serum first, and needed a surefire plan to bring the operation down, while still preserving the research and equipment to make the serum, so the rest of the world could benefit from it.

Clark used his untraceable cell phone to leave an anonymous tip about finding Cottonmouth's body, then raced back to his place, hoping Lana was still there.

He'd always been able to get around the subject of his weakness to Kryptonite, but tonight he would've had to tell Lana if she'd persisted. As she guessed, it would've killed him to lie to her. They were about to get married . . . there shouldn't be any secrets between them.

Clark knew that Lana would never willingly reveal his weakness, or identity, but Lex had his ways of coercing the truth out of his victims. Clark had nearly died once, being a Krypto-lab rats—courtesy of the Luthors, and both Chloe and his mother had fallen prey to Lex's evil devices to suck truth out of a stubborn mouth. That was before Jor-El had given Clark the crystal to wipe Lex's mind clean of his suspicions of Clark.

And now Lex was every bit as hell-bent on getting the goods on his alter-ego, so anyone associated with Superman could be in danger. That's why Clark had never let Chloe do an exclusive with Supes, and why he wouldn't even consider Lana doing the same. It was bad enough that her name was already tied to Superman from the articles she did for Perry White.

He regretted letting Lois get so close, too, since he knew she was already being bribed by Lex for information. But would it go further? Would Lex stoop as low as to threaten her . . . he knew he was capable of it. Was that what Lois' recent request for Superman's help was about? Or was she just playing another one of her tricks to get him back? He'd have to find a way to get her to talk; she was still brushing him off.

His main concern right now, however, was Lana's safety. If Lex was to ever suspect her knowledge enough to use truth serum on her, it would be one thing to say that Clark was Superman, but an entirely different matter if she was forced to reveal what could kill him. Lex could go after Clark all he wanted . . . because whether Clark was himself, or Supes, he could kick Lex's skinny butt to the moon.

But if Lex knew about Kryptonite, Clark not only couldn't do anything to save Lana, but would also die trying.

This was a burden Lana wouldn't be required to carry, not as long as he could help it.

Clark returned to find Lana resting on his couch. He thought she was asleep until she smiled up at him—her eyes still closed, and said, "I'm glad you're home."

_Home_, he thought, looking around the living room. Would this really be the place they would stay? For how long? It wasn't big enough to raise a family in. It only had one small bedroom.

"I think we could live in a shoebox, Lana, and it would feel like home," he said. "But I want more for us."

She looked up with grateful eyes, the dimmed light of a lamp bright enough to reflect in them. "I know you do, but your feet are so big we could probably make do with one of your shoeboxes. So that's just fine."

He laughed, tickling her sides. "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't tease me about my gigantic feet—especially after that bowling incident," he said.

"Huh? Did we go bowling?" she asked. "Oh, that's right . . . _I_ bowled, while you . . . umm . . . "

"Made a fool of myself," he said, snuggling in beside her. "Which reminds me, I haven't done many normal things like that, my parents were always afraid I'd give away my abilities . . . so maybe I should, well, try out a few more activities, now that I'm better at controlling my powers."

Lana smiled against Clark's cheek. "That sounds like _fun_," she said. "At least for me."

Clark groaned, hoping he wouldn't regret his idea.

He wasn't planning on ruining the light mood with the bad news of his evening, but Lana asked him what he discovered a short time later.

When Clark said it looked like they were at a dead end until the next private investigator showed up, hopefully alive this time, Lana said, "Clark, I know you'll freak out about this, but just hear me out. I've been thinking about it since you left."

His reply was slow to come, not liking the preemptive tone in her voice. "Go ahead."

"In order for these _Philosophers_ to approach cancer patients with their miracle serum, they have to know who they are, right?" she said, to which Clark nodded. "So they must have access to the lab results where the tests are performed, or at least to the files of an Oncologist who cares for the cancer patients."

"True," Clark agreed.

"So, I think you should use me as bait—"

Clark held up a hand right away, "No, no . . . a million times NO."

"Clark," she said, holding her ground with a strong voice. "All I'd need to do was go to the same Oncologist as White's grandson goes to, tell him my history, have all the tests done, then Chloe can hack into the lab's system and tweak the results to show that my cancer has returned—it happens all the time." She said it with excitement, like that was a _good_ thing. "I bet the creepy thugs who sell the serum will contact me in no time flat. Then, you know, at least we'll have a solid lead."

Clark shook his head, sick inside. "Lana, my promise was to let you get involved if my _life_ was in danger, which it's clearly not, so—"

"But someone else's life _is_ in danger, Clark," she said. "Not only are these private investigators being picked off, but Perry White's grandson is lying in a hospital bed," she started crying, "in _pain_ and _dying_, Clark. I know how that feels . . . it's awful. And we may be his only hope. Please let me do this. We don't have much time."

That was true. Clark couldn't let White's grandson die while he puttered around waiting for more private investigators—named after snakes, no less—to show up. It was possible that they didn't know much more than Clark did anyway, then all their efforts would be a waste.

"Look, I'll make you a deal," Clark said, gathering Lana back into his arms. "If I can't get anything out of Lex during our lunch this week, then we'll go forward with your plan."

Lex had been leaving him messages for a month, trying to get together with him, but Clark had only called back when he knew Lex was in meetings and couldn't answer—just to delay the "reunion of old buddies."

Lana nodded. "I doubt he'll say, 'Sure, Clark, let me tell you all about my diabolical plans,' but I guess it's worth a try. You have my permission to use my name if you need to."

Clark agreed, but knew he'd do anything he could to keep her out of it.

8


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 42**

_- Metropolis Medical Center -_

Lana walked through the halls of Metropolis Medical Center feeling like she was visiting a part of her life that she longed to forget. The sterile smell made her skin chill. It wasn't an unpleasant scent to most, but for her, it brought back thoughts of needles and the lonely hours of long nights, with only the frequent visits of nurses flipping on the lights to awaken her from the edge of sleep.

Lana hoped that she would never spend another moment in such misery. She'd been lucky that way, with her episode of cancer being her only time as a hospital patient. Which is why she wanted to come so badly today, to comfort Perry White's grandson and hopefully make his stay a bit happier than hers was.

If all went well, and Perry White had finally agreed to let Clark leave work, Superman would be joining them any minute. This was when Clark's dual identity was a complicated disadvantage. White had been the one to arrange the superhero visit for his grandson, yet he was also the one person who could spoil it.

Clark had been asking for days if he could have a few hours off today—to do some volunteer work with his mother, he'd claimed—but White had hemmed and hawed about it, and had yet to give Clark a solid answer. Lana assumed they were _still_ discussing the issue in White's office, just as they were when Lana left the Daily Planet building.

When Lana delivered the official message to Perry White from Superman that he was 'working furiously on the problem they discussed,' White had confided in Lana that his five-year-old grandson had cancer, and that Superman promised to visit with him. She played stupid as far as the serum was concerned, but said, "Mr. White, I'd appreciate it if this stays between just the two of us, but I'm a cancer survivor and would love the opportunity to visit with your grandson, if that's okay."

White was shocked by the news, but whole heartedly accepted Lana's offer. She was supposed to arrive when Superman did, but with White holding Clark hostage, she was starting to wonder if _she'd_ have to appear in the suit. Forget the obvious details, including the full foot, and one hundred pound difference between she and the real thing, this kid wanted a superhero, and he was gonna get one!

Lana was all smiles from her silly thoughts, when she entered room 308. Matthew White was playing a Spider-Man X-box game. She couldn't help but smile. "Hi, Matthew, I'm Lana," she said, going to the side of his hospital bed. The drip-drip-drip of the IV tower just inches from Lana made her shiver. That sound still lingered in her head, in the quietest of moments. Her real smile dissolved, but she was quick to pull out a fake one.

Matthew gave a weak, "Hi," without looking. He didn't know Lana was coming, or even who she was. And White had promised to keep Superman's visit a secret, so Lana hoped Matthew had enough energy today to enjoy himself.

He wasn't playing the video game like a normal child would, with excitement and concentration, he seemed to just be pushing random buttons, and watching what happened.

"You know what?" Lana said. "If you hold the left trigger Spider-Man will shoot his web."

"Really?" Matthew asked, perking up a bit.

She knew that because Chloe had given Clark the game as a joke, but he'd become really good at it. Lana was close on his heels though.

"Cool!" Matthew said, getting the web trick down.

"His web is _really_ sticky," Lana said.

He turned to her with wide eyes. "How do _you_ know?"

She smiled. "I used to live in New York City, and I met him." She told Matthew a few web-slinging stories, leaving out the part where she _literally_ got tangled in Spidey's web.

Chloe and Lana had been ordering pizza from the same place throughout their college career, but when a new skinny kid brought their delivery one evening, something went terribly wrong for him. He offered them their pizza box, while at the same time taking their payment of a twenty dollar bill. But when Lana tried to take the box from him, she couldn't. It was stuck to his hand . . . and so was the money! He owed them change, so he was caught up in the money problem with Chloe, when Lana tugged a little harder on the box, and out came a glob of sticky web. And then the twenty dollar bill shot across the room, with a fifteen foot trail of white stringy stuff.

Peter Parker was absolutely speechless. The girls loosened him up, however, after Chloe told him all about her days in Smallville, and the countless people she'd met with special abilities, emphasizing the fact that she and Lana knew how critical it was that they keep his secret. He'd explained that he'd been having a few "malfunctions" lately. He stopped by a few more times, but then his life got busier—with other things besides pizza.

"I wish I had a Superman game, but my grandpa says they don't make those yet," Matthew told Lana. "He's my _favorite_ superhero."

"He is, huh?" Lana said, glancing at her watch. _Where the heck is he?!_ She pulled out her phone and sent a text message to ask if he was on his way. "He's my favorite, too."

"Cool! Did you see him stop that big flood?" Matthew asked. "He did that with his superbreath!"

"And his _huge_ muscles," she said.

"Yeah! I bet they're as big as cannons!"

She laughed. "Well, he likes to think so."

"Do you know _him_, too?!" asked Matthew, nearly sitting upright now.

Clark text messaged her back, with a simple "Y" which meant he had to be in a hurry—a good sign.

"Can you keep a secret?" Lana asked Matthew.

He nodded with enthusiasm. "I'm the _best_ at keeping secrets."

"Good for you," came Superman's deep voice from the corner of the room.

His plan was to super-speed through the hospital and get inside the room without being noticed. Apparently, he'd pulled it off. Otherwise, they'd have a circus on their hands.

Lana breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him, but Matthew didn't look like he was breathing _at all_.

Superman smiled. "Because I'm here to make you my official protector of _secrets_."

"ME!?" Matthew finally coughed out.

"Yep. I'm gonna show you how I do all my superpowers," Supes said.

"No way!"

Lana then noticed a little issue and started laughing so hard, she couldn't speak, only point.

Superman looked down to find that he only had _one_ of his red boots on. His other foot was in a Kenneth Cole loafer. Good thing Perry White wasn't there, he might have recognized the shoe Clark wore to work nearly every day.

"Uhh, looks like I'll be starting with a demonstration on super-changing," he said, laughing almost as much as the other two. Then he was gone a mere five seconds, and returned with both boots this time. "See, I did that on purpose, just to show off."

"That was awesome!" Matthew said.

"Yes, but _now_ he has his red underwear on backwards," Lana said with a grin.

Superman's jaw dropped and he looked down slowly. "Funny," he said, smirking at Lana.

The joke made Matthew giggle so hard that his bed was shaking. He finally calmed enough to say. "Why do you put your underwear on the _outside_ of your pants? My mom would never let me do that!"

Superman's face turned the same color as his cape. "Well, Matthew," he said, "when you grow up and don't live with your mom anymore, you get to wear your underwear however you want."

Lana made a mental note to tell Clark that his future wife might have a thing or two to say about that.

"Okay, enough picking on me," Supes said. "I better show you some tricks before the nurses catch us."

Superman froze Matthew's water, then used his heat vision to defrost it. Then Matthew hid several objects under his blanket, with Lana's help, so Supes could use his x-ray vision to guess what they were. After a game with super-hearing, Matthew wanted to see Supes use his strength, so he took a quarter and pressed it between his fingers—and soon, the coin was nearly liquid.

At last, Matthew said he wished he could see Superman fly.

Lana gave Supes a skeptical look.

"There's not enough room to _fly_ in here, buddy, but . . . " said Supes, looking around the small room, ". . . maybe I could . . . "

Matthew and Lana watched with intrigue as Superman went over to a bare wall and started walking straight up it. Soon, he was completely upside down, with his feet on the ceiling and his cape nearly touching the floor as it hung from his shoulders.

Thunderous applause broke out from Matthew's bed. But then slowly, his laughter faded . . . little by little, until he fell back exhausted onto his pillow.

Lana remembered that feeling all too well. She would get bursts of energy, giving her hope, only to be pulled back into a dark, terrifying cave. But she had finally beat cancer, and she _had_ to help Matthew do the same.

She looked to Superman, nodding her head with determination. "We can do this," she whispered.

Supes took Matthew's hand. "I'll make you a deal, big guy. I'm gonna take you flying someday . . . _real flying_, if you promise me that you'll keep fighting this evil villain that's making your body sick, okay?"

"I promise," Matthew said. "My dad said he sold our car today so he can buy some more medicine that the doctors are out of." Or never had to begin with, Lana thought. "It makes me feel a lot better. So maybe I can go flying with you in a couple of days."

"That would be great, Matthew," Supes said. Then he gave Lana a look that said he had an idea. She couldn't wait to hear what it was.

They couldn't talk then, however, because Clark had to meet Lex in five minutes, for lunch.

Hopefully, Clark wouldn't have such a difficult time with his super-changing this time. Or he might end up wearing one _red boot_. She doubted Lex would miss that!


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 43**

_- Lakeside Restaurant -_

It was just too easy being wicked, Lex Luthor always thought to himself. And too much fun, as well. Why would he ever want to go back to the days of struggling with the demons inside him, when they made such wonderful bedfellows? His suit was dark . . . his mind was dark, and his soul was as black as tar. The only dark thing he didn't have was Clark Kent's thick mop of hair.

It wasn't that money couldn't buy it, hair plugs were well within Lex's reach, but how could he stop there? He'd want Clark's toned body, his sincere eyes, and that smile of his that could make every woman in a room do a double take. If Lex could bottle and sell what Clark Kent had, he could make billions on it, and wouldn't have to bother with all his diabolical, sinister habits.

But then, life would be boring, wouldn't it? Which was exactly how Lex pictured Clark's life until he discovered that the lovely Lana Lang had entered his life. Though Lex had wanted her as his own from the moment he saw her at the fire, it was no surprise that she'd fallen for the prince of plaid.

Lana seemed like one of those traditional type of girls, the ones Lex got such a thrill from hunting. Once they were his, of course, the fun was over. He'd toss them out with the rest of the trash. Lex knew women wouldn't come within a hundred feet of him if it wasn't for his money, so he figured his treatment of them was fair and square.

But Clark Kent—he had nothing, and everything at the same time. Lex used to make an honest effort at maintaining their friendship, because Clark brought out the best in him. Or what Lex _used_ to think was the best side of him. But now, it disturbed Lex to see such goodness—such naiveté—in a man. Especially one who could use his looks and personality to fool the best and brightest in this world.

That's exactly why Lex wished he had that all-around small town package Clark had going on, so he could use it to manipulate, swindle, and pillage . . . without that edge of suspicion that Lex was gaining more and more with the public.

It was the bald head, he was sure of it. People didn't trust the Windex shine.

Lex had stopped trying to outrun his fate, and finally turned around and embraced it. The transformation inside himself was intoxicating—he breathed in the poisonous air with an open mouth, inhaling the evil in gulps.

There was never enough delight to be found in it. He craved the destruction of souls, like a fat pig craved its slop.

The more innocent the soul, the more entertaining the kill. Which was precisely why Lex gained such pleasure in destroying a man such as James Olsen—a loony philanthropist with money to burn and not a single brain cell in his head to know what he could really do with it. Dragging the gallant Clark Kent into their hostile rivalry was only a small nail Lex planned to hammer into Mr. Olsen's coffin.

His lips curled up at the thought, then his smile grew larger, and as fake as faux fur, when he spotted Clark walking toward his table at one of the many trendy restaurants he owned. Lakeside was the hottest spot in Metropolis, and anyone with serious cash was expected to be there for lunch on weekdays.

Today was no exception. Men in expensive suits, and women in glamorous designer garb sat at every table surrounding him. The mayor and his wife were only two tables away.

Lex was sure Clark's eyes would pop out when he entered the place, stunned by the splendor, but Clark approached with perfect calmness, his perfectly white teeth sparkling.

"Clark Kent—long lost best friend," Lex said, standing with an outstretched hand. "How are you?"

"Doing great, Lex," he answered. "And I'm not too long lost—just down the street from LuthorCorp, you know."

The two shook hands, then sat at the table. "With both our busy schedules, it seems like a much greater distance," Lex said.

"I know," Clark answered. "Sorry about missing so many messages from you. I only get around to calling my voicemail about once a month lately." He laughed. "Love makes you a little loopy, if you know what I mean."

No, he didn't know. Lex had never really loved anyone but himself.

"Sure," Lex answered. "So, how is the beautiful Miss Lang?"

Clark took the menu from the waiter, who had been one of many to give him a distasteful look as he scanned his wrinkled white button up, which he most likely scooped off the floor. "Hot as ever," Clark answered, running his hands down his shirt.

_I suppose my shirts would all be on the floor as well, if she was my girlfriend,_ Lex thought to himself.

"She's amazing," Clark continued, with a giant-sized grin. "I'm absolutely in love."

"I can see that. Any plans to make it official?"

Clark leaned in. "I'm buying the ring this week. But we're having a _really_ small wedding, so don't be offended if—"

Lex had sipped some of his wine, and came up coughing—hard, like he'd swallowed something that shouldn't be in there. He held up his hand as he continued hacking into his linen napkin, with everyone around him staring.

The waiter brought him another napkin. "Are you all right, Mr. Luthor? Can I get you another drink?"

Lex nodded, handing over his wine. "Water," he choked out.

Clark looked worried, which made it all the more embarrassing. "You sure you're okay?" he asked.

Lex got the spasms under control at last, then was just about to answer when he felt a sneeze coming on and grabbed his napkin again. It was a full blown attack. He sneezed six times in a row, unable to stifle the volume or blast.

The other restaurant guests winced, scooting away one discreet inch at a time.

The waiter returned with bottled sparkling water, took off the top and set it on the table. Lex shook his head. "Man, I must be getting a cold, sorry about that."

"No problem," Clark answered. "Just glad you're breathing again."

"Anyway—back to your engagement," Lex said, still attempting to gain his composure and avoid the narrowed eyes of the others. "Congratulations. A little soon, but didn't you once say that when something's right, you take a chance on it?"

"Exactly," Clark answered. He took a sip from his glass, making Lex realize he needed another swig. His throat was still burning.

This time, Lex's drink tasted like he'd swallowed vinegar. "Holy sh—!" he stopped himself, but everyone still turned. He looked for the waiter, who had exited that section. "Sorry, Clark," he turned back to say. "I'm having some rotten luck with my drinks today—I'll be right back."

Coughing again, he stood and headed toward the kitchen, after all, he owned the place and was determined to fire the prat who was doing this to him. It was obviously some kind of sick joke. He tracked down the waiter, who started apologizing for not getting back soon enough to take their orders.

"It's not my _order_ that I'm concerned about," Lex snapped. "My wine had pepper in it, and my water is spiked with vinegar! Who the hell is responsible for this?"

The waiter shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but I opened both bottles right at your table. They've never been out of your sight."

Lex opened his mouth to continue his rant, then realized the waiter was right. He rubbed his raw throat. "Get rid of every bottle of that wine and sparkling water, and bring out some tap water, and two plates of ravioli."

Lex hadn't had tap water in years, but it couldn't possibly be worse than what he'd been drinking.

The waiter swallowed. "But the wine is your own private label—five-hundred dollars a bottle, Mr. Luthor. Are you sure you'd like us to destroy it?"

"All of it," was his answer. At least _he_ had been the one to find the bad batches, rather than another one of his high-profile customers.

Lex made his way back to the table, apologizing to acquaintances along the way. They gave him generous smiles and nods, but Lex knew what they were thinking.

Just before he reached Clark, Lex tripped . . . falling right into the lap of the mayor's wife. She bristled and screeched, and her husband immediately stood and pulled Lex off of her.

"My deepest apologies, Mrs. Monson," Lex said, absolutely humiliated as he removed his face from her flabby size D's.

The mayor stepped back, straightened his lapels and huffed. "A bit too much to drink today, I'd say, Mr. Luthor."

"No . . . I . . . " Lex started, having no idea how to finish. What was wrong with him? The only thing he could think of was that he was having an adverse reaction to a new protein supplement his personal trainer had him on. _Off with his head,_ his wicked mind muttered.

He looked back to the mayor's wife, intending to apologize again, but had barely opened his mouth when he heard himself say, "Nice knockers!"

Lex threw his hand over his mouth. It was _his_ voice that had said it, but he had to be losing his mind! He wouldn't have ever said that! Well, at least not to _her_!

There was a full chorus of gasps around the room, then the Mayor said, "Mr. Luthor! Remove yourself from these premises or I'll have you arrested!"

Lex didn't even think to say that he _owned_ the place, he was too confused, looking around the room in delirium. All that experimenting with meteor rocks was finally catching up to him.

He couldn't come up with enough excuses to explain himself.

Clark was soon behind him. "Lex, let's eat our lunch on the balcony, okay?" he said. Lex gave him a stifled nod and started walking. Clark stopped him right away and said, "Watch your shoelace."

Lex glanced down. "Oh, _that's_ what it was . . . " he said, trying to gather attention again, so they'd all know it was _just_ his shoelace. But of course that didn't account for his spastic behavior with his drinks, nor his comment about Mrs. Monson's chest.

"Lex, your face is bright red—you might have a fever," Clark told him as they exited. He had already waved for the waiter to follow them with the food. "You don't seem like yourself today."

"I'm not," Lex answered, afraid of what would come out of his mouth when he opened it. "I was fine before I got here, but . . . " he rubbed his eyes " . . . you're right, I must be coming down with something."

"I've heard there's a nasty flu going around—affects your balance, your senses—crazy stuff."

Lex gave a slow nod as he sat at a table on the balcony, hanging over Metropolis lake. "Uhh huh, sounds about right."

Lex gave his head a hard shake and looked down at his plate of ravioli the waiter had just set down. He didn't dare taste it, so he thought he'd get down to business with Clark before he did something else stupid and had to leave.

"Anyway, Clark," he said, straightening up, determined that he could beat this poltergeist that had possessed him. "I'm glad life's going so well for you. Mine isn't nearly as great, as you know, with James Olsen still walking the streets. The man tried to kill me, so it's a constant concern. Makes it hard to sleep at night, you know?"

Clark gave him a narrowed eye, with a stiff smirk. "Are they _sure_ it was Mr. Olsen who tried to shoot you?" he said, giving Lex a cold stone in his gut. "It seems like his weapon of choice would've been closer to a wet noodle than a gun."

Lex cleared his throat. "You were there, Clark, you saw how belligerent he was with me right before the opera started." That night truly was the most amazing stroke of luck Lex had ever had. He'd been looking for a way to pin something big on the bumbling buffoon, but to have an argument like they did in a public place, then to see Mr. Olsen leave early set it all up perfectly. With one quick phone call to his henchmen, he could take care of his traitorous bodyguard, who Lex knew was speaking with the police, and frame Olsen with murder charges.

Of course, it was only _attempted_ murder charges now, Lex thought with an inward scowl. He was still trying to discover where the police had hidden his bodyguard, who could still be in a coma from the incident—or perhaps he wasn't. Perhaps he was talking. Whatever the case, Lex couldn't pull the plug unless he could find the guy. He'd had too many of his employees go rogue since he'd murdered his father, and they would all pay for it.

"Mr. Olsen goes coo-coo if a fly so much as lands on him, Lex," Clark said, shoveling ravioli into his mouth. "That's just how he is."

This lunch wasn't going at all like Lex had planned.

He leaned back in his chair. "Be honest with me, Clark. Don't you think that an eccentric guy like him might go a little too far one night?"

Clark narrowed his eyes, and took a long breath. "Lex, I want you to know that I'm concerned about someone making an attempt on your life—so don't take me wrong, please—but I really don't think it was him." He swallowed down more ravioli. "My gosh, this is _delicious!_ Glad you ordered for me."

Lex tapped his fingers together, losing his patience. If he was talking to anyone else, he'd slam his fist down and _convince_ the guy that Mr. Olsen tried to kill him. End of story.

"My attorneys say that you and Lana will be called to testify at the trial, on behalf of Mr. Olsen," Lex said. "Have you been contacted yet?"

Clark shook his head. "Nope. But I don't know how they can expect me to do that, with you being my friend, and Mr. Olsen being my employer."

Lex gave him a limp smile. "When you're called to testify, Clark, you'll have to choose a side. Simple as that."

Clark's shoulders fell. "But I'll also be required to tell the truth—that I just can't see Mr. Olsen doing something so violent—so what should I do?"

_LIE, you freaking farm boy! Damn, this guy got on his nerves sometimes._

"I guess you'll need to decide where your loyalty lies. You could always find another job, but lifelong friends are hard to come by," Lex said, stabbing a ravioli with his fork. Clark had eaten enough of it, that he was sure it was safe.

He was wrong.

The piping hot pasta just about burned a hole through his mouth. He spit it out, then chucked the entire plate across the balcony. It slammed into the enormous restaurant window where the same people who mocked him before were sitting. It cracked the glass and shattered the plate. Pasta sauce was splattered like blood across the window, sending people running.

"What's wrong?" Clark said, rushing over to Lex, as though he needed CPR. "Maybe we should get you to a doctor if this is getting worse." Clark's habit of being a Jonny-on-the-spot superhero was even more annoying now than it was in Smallville.

"I'm fine," Lex said, shooing him away.

Lex's cell rang. He looked at the caller ID, saw that it was one of his best thugs, then said, "I need to take this, Clark. Sorry."

Ever-courteous, Clark stepped back. "No problem. I'll just finish off my plate, if you don't mind."

Lex turned away and rolled his eyes, expecting Clark to recite the Boy Scout motto.

He walked a good thirty feet from Clark, knowing this wasn't a call he should overhear. In fact, none of Lex's conversations would sit well with Clark, especially not one with _this_ guy.

"Tate, you better have something good for me," Lex said, answering his cell. "This day can't get any worse."

"Sorry to hear that, Mr. Luthor."

"Well?"

Tate cleared his throat. "I contacted Perry White again, he doesn't have anything on Superman yet, but his son has sold the family car to buy more serum for Matthew."

Lex gave a sinister laugh. "Then I guess they'll be walking to Matthew's funeral, won't they?"

"Yes, Mr. Luthor," said Tate. "What would you like me to do, sir?"

It was time he stopped playing around with Perry White and his pathetic offspring. "Take his money—add it to the rest of the loot that he's contributed to my vault. Then give him some serum—only this time, spike it with a carcinogen that will speed up the growth of Matthew's cancer. That will light a fire under them. We'll let them in on our little trick when the boy's heart starts to slow. Superman's reputation will then be destroyed in a single day, White will make sure of that. He's just biding his time, hoping I'll give up on the idea."

"I'll get it done," Tate said. "I've arranged to meet with the boy's father tonight, at the lumber yard behind the lab."

"Good," Lex said, leaning against the balcony rail. "We'll make them bleed for it."

Lex heard a creak . . . then a loud crack . . . then he went flying off the balcony with the rest of the rail, belly-flopping into Metropolis Lake.

He came up shouting obscenities that no fish had ever heard. Every one of his ribs felt like it was broken, and if he'd had any hair, he was sure it would've been stripped off from the hard fall. His nose was burning with pain, along with the rest of him, with drops of blood starting to trickle from it.

"Lex!" Clark hollered from twenty feet above him. "I'll call an ambulance!"

"Don't bother," Lex said, wiping moss off his face. "I can get myself out." That was if his balance wouldn't fail him again. His taste seemed to be working fine again, he noticed, as the fishy water sloshed into his mouth.

How the hell had his life fallen apart in one short hour? Clark was right, he needed to see a doctor and get rid of this insane flu that had hit him so hard.

-- -- --

Clark walked away from the Lakeside restaurant laughing his steel butt off.

He _had_ to call Lana, reaching for his cell as soon as he jumped into his Envoy and started driving. When she answered, he said, "Great news, babe. I finally found a good use for my super-ventriloquism."

"Oh my. Do I want to know?" she asked, laughing. She already knew what Clark had planned, but putting words into Lex's mouth had been an impromptu prank. And the broken nose was just a bonus.

"Let's just say that Lex won't be invited to dine with the City Council anytime soon," Clark answered. "Not as long as he has a thing for the mayor's wife, and her largest assets."

"So much for using your abilities to save lives," she said. "You could make a killing as a comic, or a slight-of-hand magician."

"Getting back to the old Vegas idea, huh?"

"Only if I can be your scantily-clad assistant."

"I'm off to the feather boa store right now," Clark said with a smile.

Only he'd have to wait to see her model it . . . he had a cancer serum scandal to interrupt, and a LuthorCorp vault to rob.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 44**

_ Metropolis Industrial Park – Lumber Yard _

In the hours between meeting Lex for lunch and arriving at the lumber yard at midnight, Clark had Lana speak with Perry White to get his son's contact information, then he'd called Perry's son, John, and told him the information he had. John was stunned to silence, then wept that someone could be so malicious.

There was a careful catch, however. Clark not only disguised his voice and identity, but he also didn't reveal to John that Lex was the overlord of the Philosophers. Perry White had also agreed that Superman's involvement wouldn't be mentioned to John

The less John knew, the better chance he had of not getting hurt any more than he'd already been.

During Clark's discussion with John, he learned that he and Perry had spent over one-hundred-thousand dollars for Matthew's previous doses of serum. One dose would last a week, but the cost was twenty-thousand per dose. Lex had truly come up with a _killer_ idea, that stinking louse.

The Philosophers had told John that Matthew just needed one more dose for a complete recovery. Interestingly enough, they'd told him that a few times already.

But John was desperate to save his son, so he was forced to believe them—selling every worldly possession he owned to get enough money for that "final" dose. That's why he was so utterly shaken when Clark had told him that the vial of serum he had arranged to buy that evening was spiked with a chemical that would actually speed up his son's cancer.

John was out for blood toward the end of his conversation with Clark, which is exactly why he hadn't revealed Lex's place in this evil ploy. Members of the Philosophers weren't easy to track down—with nameless faces—but Lex Luthor could be easily found. Clark had to be smart about this, and plan carefully. He didn't want John going vigilante on him. Clark needed to keep as many people as possible out of Lex's sadistic line of vision. 

Superman had made a promise to Perry White, that he would keep his family out of harm's way, so it made him sick that he had to use John as bait—going through with his scheduled rendezvous with the Philosophers in the lumber yard.

They worked all their plans around that, and Clark was satisfied that they could pull this off without a hitch. Of course, he'd thought that about a lot of things that had gone wrong in his life. He hoped tonight would be one of those occasions where he got lucky.

As he perched high on a stack of lumber, Clark had to shake a sultry image of Lana out of his head and refocus. _Not THAT kind of lucky, you idiot. Pay attention,_ he told himself.

Clark decided not to go as Superman, just in case he was spotted. Instead he dressed all in black, wearing his silly Zorro mask that he'd had for years. To involve Supes in this could make Lex all too suspicious of Perry White, and even more blood thirsty to destroy Superman by whatever means possible.

He was sure Lana would be his next target, since her early articles had unfortunately hinted at a personal connection. There was a huge difference between the articles Lois had once written, and those from Lana's hand. Lois focused on the unanswered questions—where was he from? How did he get his powers? Did he have a weakness? . . . etc. Lana had focused more on his qualities—Superman saves lives, his motivation is selfless, he's an unparalleled hero. Her articles were warm and personal, which put her in more danger than Clark had realized at the time.

Lex had proved over and over again that he thought emotional attachment was for the weak. And he loved taking advantage of that.

Lois had already been approached by Lex, even with her articles being on the cold and heartless side of things. But Lana truly could be in trouble, so it was a good thing that she had been avoiding all things related to Superman for several weeks now. Except for the tiny detail that she was about to get engaged to him.

Clark swallowed hard when he saw John White walking through the dark, dirty lumberyard, to the spot where he'd arranged to meet with the Philosophers. A bulky man soon appeared, with a shorter counterpart following behind him. 

"Good evening, John," the bigger of the men said. Clark recognized right away that this was Tate, the henchman that Lex had been speaking to on his cell phone.

John gave a hesitant nod, glancing around.

_Dang, dude. Don't freak out on me!_ Clark shouted inside his head. If John gave these guys a reason to be suspicious, it would be over.

"I . . . uhh . . . " John said, his hands shaking, " . . . here's your money." He held up his briefcase.

Tate handed it to his associate, giving him a raised brow, then went back to John. "Why you so nervous, John? Something going on that we should know about?"

Clark readied himself, thinking at super-speed. What would be his first move? He narrowed his eyes, trying to see what John was reaching for in his jacket. _No!_ Clark raced off, removing the gun from John's jacket pocket and replacing it with a hundred dollar bill from the briefcase.

Tate grabbed John's arm, twisting it behind his back. "What do you have for us in there, smart—" He pulled out the hundred dollar bill and squinted at it.

John looked just as surprised as Tate did. "Umm, I, well . . . wanted to tip you for being so, you know, helpful," John said. "This serum is saving my son's life."

Tate released his grip. "Right. Sorry about that—I have a twitchy trigger finger, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, okay, sure . . . " John said, his voice cracking. He had to be wondering where his gun had disappeared to. And Clark couldn't help but wonder what he was doing with it in the first place? Geez, they'd spent over an hour on this plan! What was John thinking?

"Here's your serum—handle with care," Tate said. "Pricey stuff."

John took the vial, placing it in his front pocket. "I hope this is his last dose."

Tate gave a cold shrug. "I'd say there's a good chance of that." 

"That heartless piece of—" Clark started to mutter to himself, knowing Tate was referring to the added chemical in the serum.

Something else caught his attention though. A shadow was moving along the backside of a tall stack of drain pipe.

Clark darted his eyes between all three focus points now—the shadow, John, and the Philosophers. John was walking right toward the shadow, and the Philosophers were heading in the opposite direction. He _had_ to follow them if he was going to find the lab that they operated from.

The shadow began creeping slowly up the PVC-like drain pipe. How stupid! The pile could . . . CRASH! CLUNK! CLUNK! CLUNK! CLUNK! CLUNK! CLUNK! CLUNK! . . . the pipes raced wildly down the pile and rolled in various directions, taking the shadow with them. 

Running for his life, John barely escaped a pipe and hid behind a stack of two-by-fours.

The Philosophers were quick as well, getting out of the way, then hurrying toward the shadow with their guns drawn. "Stay where you are!" Tate shouted.

Clark was ready to pounce again as he watched the disoriented man making an attempt to stand. Tate gave another command, waving his gun. The guy tripped over a pipe and face-planted back into the dirt. "Who are you?" Tate demanded, with his foot on the guy's head.

"Black Mamba," the guy bravely answered, spitting out what looked to be vampire fangs. Huh?

Clark's heart about dislodged. "OH, HELL NO!" He couldn't help but say it out loud. That voice was unmistakable.

The Philosophers turned toward Clark's voice, but he was long gone—knocking Tate and his retched buddy upside the head before they could take another breath.

Clark looked at the man on the ground. "You need to get out of here, _now_!" He mimicked his dad's voice—his favorite to imitate—so a stunned Mr. Olsen wouldn't clue in to who he was.

Mr. Olsen stood, brushing off his black Lycra pants. "Zorro?" he said. "What a pleasure! What a PLEASURE!"

It was hard to roll his eyes under his mask, but Clark managed it. "Look, you're in a very dangerous situation—these men are—"

"Selling _my_ cancer serum," said a stubborn Mr. Olsen, removing his night vision goggles.

"_Your_ serum?" John asked, running up with a clenched fist. Clark stopped him mid-attack.

"Nope, wrong guy," Clark said, then realized that John couldn't see Mr. Olsen clearly in the dark. Again, it was best if everyone remained anonymous. Clark held John back and told Mr. Olsen, "Could you please put your goggles back on?"

"Why?"

"Because I said so," Clark answered, running out of patience with the ridiculous situation.

"Look, Zorro, why don't you mount your horse and hit the road?!" said Mr. Olsen. "There's room for only _one_ hero in this town, and he could kick your—"

Clark put Mr. Olsen's goggles on for him, then gently patted his shoulders. "We need to go somewhere and talk, before these creeps wake up, all right?" He had to find out what Olsen knew about the serum, especially since he was claiming it belonged to him.

"Fine," said Mr. Olsen, bending over to get his vampire fangs out of the dirt. "But I need the rest of my costume."

"_That's_ a costume?" asked John.

Clark hurried them along, heading toward the lumber yard exit.

Mr. Olsen huffed. "Of course it is! I'm a snake—Black Mamba, to be precise." He held up his plastic teeth, then pointed to his goggles. "Fangs and beady eyes. Duuuuuuhhh."

Clark tried hard not to offer his opinion on that. "Are you saying that _you're_ the one who hired all these private investigators—Sidewinder, Cottonmouth, and Copperhead—who have all been murdered?"

John choked. "Murdered?"

"Yes, and they were all very brave men," Mr. Olsen answered. "And I'm out to avenge their blood."

"Okay, no one's avenging anything tonight," Clark said, getting to a spot where he felt it was safe to talk, but could still keep an eye on The Philosophers—asleep among the pipes.

Mr. Olsen put a fist on his hip. "Who made _you_ our leader?"

"Natural selection," Clark said with a smirk.

"Boy, you're an arrogant son of a—" John began.

Clark whipped out John's gun and crushed it in his hands. "Any more questions?"

Both men shook their heads. Clark was making a conscious effort to be a jerk. That way, Mr. Olsen wouldn't find anything familiar about him.

"No one uses their real names here, got that?" he looked to Mr. Olsen, "Black Mamba," then turned to John and waited.

"Umm, let's see, uhh . . . "

"Pick a name . . . any name," Clark said.

Mr. Olsen gave John a pat on the back. "Give him some time, this is important."

"No, it's _not_. What's important is that we get this conversation _over_ with," Clark said, wanting to pull out all his hair. He had to spy on the Philosophers, and they'd be waking up any minute.

"Call me Perry," John finally answered. Clark gave him a blank stare. _Very creative, moron_.

"Oh! I know a _Perry!_" said Mr. Olsen, all excited. "Fine man. He works—"

"Okay, down to details," Clark cut in, feeling as though he'd been stuffed into a VW Bug with twenty circus clowns. "Why did you say that this is your cancer serum?"

"Because I'm the one who hired the scientists, funded the research, and had my partner disappear with everything," Olsen answered. "And I want it all back! I've been working on this for five years!"

"Who was your partner?" Clark asked.

"No idea. He was a philanthropist that I met online."

"You're joking," Clark said. Mr. Olsen hadn't truly shocked him for a while, but wow. There couldn't possibly be a blog for bored billionaires, could there?

"Really. We started talking about good causes, and charity balls, and I eventually suggested that we do something with our money that would change the world—find a cure for cancer."

John grabbed Mr. Olsen's shoulders. "Please tell me you still have the research somewhere—I need that serum!"

Mr. Olsen gave a sad shake of his head. "I'm sorry, everything vanished when my partner did. One day, he just stopped replying, and the lab I was overseeing went up in flames."

Clark shook his head, too, trying to wrap his mind around all this. "How did you do such big business with him, without even knowing his name?"

"He wanted to remain anonymous. We communicated through a private forum when we got serious about the project."

"What was his email address?" Clark asked. "Or his forum username . . . anything?"

Olsen scratched his nearly bald head. "Lion . . . umm . . . let's see, what was it . . . Lionsden! That's right. You know, like, Daniel and the Lion's den. So maybe . . . maybe his name was DANIEL! Why haven't I thought of that?"

He was wrong. His anonymous partner wasn't named Daniel, it was Lionel Luthor. Clark and Chloe had seen him use that name on several of his dirty LuthorCorp projects. Clark would've asked himself why Lionel would bother with cancer research, but he already knew the answer: Ka-ching, Ka-ching. Lionel always had dollar signs in his eyes.

"When did he go missing?" John asked.

"The first week of June. Haven't heard a thing since," Olsen said. "And that's also the week the lab was burned down."

Yep, it was Lionel for sure. That's exactly when Lex murdered him in the high rise fire. He'd have to talk this over with Lana and Chloe, but he was pretty sure that he might know Lex's motive for murder now.

Clark gave a dry smile, amazed how the three crimes he was trying to pin on Lex—the murder of Lionel, framing Mr. Olsen for the opera house shooting, and running the underground serum operation—were all tied together. This could be a homerun life sentence if Clark could get the right evidence aligned.

"Thanks for your help, Mr. O—umm, Black Mamba," Clark said, almost forgetting to use the voice of his father.

Mr. Olsen squinted, tipping his head to get a better look at Clark.

Clark suddenly remembered that one of the things Olsen found familiar between Clark and Superman was their jaw lines—practically the only part of his face that was visible in the Zorro mask.

Clark rubbed his chin, as though he had a bad case of razor burn. "Oh man, we better ditch this place, those guys over there are starting to wake up." And they were, so Clark had to hurry.

Mr. Olsen's eyes widened. "Okay, right . . .but first tell me how you smashed that gun."

"It was fake—got it from a practical joke shop," Clark answered, still rubbing his face.

John's eyes were now squinting at him.

"Good one!" said Mr. Olsen. "I'll have to try that out sometime. Perhaps I'd purchase a fake sword, however. I'm terrified of guns."

Clark promised Mr. Olsen that he would contact him soon with information about his cancer serum operation, if he would stay completely out of it. Olsen agreed then walked off, sneaking through the lumber yard again, as far as possible from the Philosophers.

"You liar. That gun wasn't fake," John said, all belligerent. "You stole it from my pocket. But how? And then you—"

"Saved your life," Clark said. "Because they would've killed you in a heartbeat. Didn't you listen to a single word I said today? You just about blew the whole thing."

John squared up his shoulders. "You were a lot nicer on the phone."

"Well you were a lot smarter," Clark said. Then he backed off, remembering this guy's son was dying in a hospital bed.

"Look, I got scared," John said. "I was afraid our plan wouldn't be good enough—you were being so elusive about everything. And I need to find their lab—tonight—and figured that a gun was a lot faster way to get them to take me to it."

Clark shook his head. "Not with these guys. They're beasts, John. You need to trust, me. Please."

He gave a reluctant nod.

"I'll have the serum delivered to your home in the morning—along with every penny you've paid for the serum. Right now, I need you to go back to where those idiots are waking up—act scared out of your mind, say you only saw a dark shadow, then hand them their briefcase of cash, like you've been protecting it for them. That will prove that you didn't have anything to do with what happened."

John followed Clark's plan to the letter this time, and the confused men seemed to buy his story.

When John walked away, Clark started after the Philosophers. He hoped things would go as well as he and Lana planned—that he could raid the lab, rob the vault, and leave things as unsuspicious as possible. It was a far cry from rock solid, but it was the only chance they had to save Matthew.

The "rock" Clark might need to be most concerned about tonight, however, was green. Knowing this was a LuthorCorp lab gave him knots in his gut just thinking about the possibilities.

He didn't have a Plan B. Not one that he would consider, anyway.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 45**

_ Metropolis Industrial Park – LuthorCorp Lab _

It was four A.M. when Clark finally appeared in his living room to find a wide-awake, and very concerned Lana. She hadn't dared call his cell, just in case he'd forgotten to put it on vibrate—which was typical for him. Clark's ring tone was the classic disco hit, "Stayin' Alive" which Lana had so affectionately downloaded for him. She figured that would definitely solicit unwanted attention as he snuck around the dark lumber yard and lab.

"What happened, Clark?" Lana asked, bolting from his couch. "Is everything okay?"

Clark looked beaten down—truly disturbed. "I've been trying for hours, but I can't get the serum," he said, dropping his head. "I know where it is . . . I know how to get it . . . I know the combination to the vault . . . "

Lana lifted his chin, determined to help him figure this out. "What is it that you _don't_ know?"

He gave a hard swallow. "What I don't know is how I'm ever going to forgive myself for getting you involved."

"The good thing is that there's nothing to try to forgive yourself for—we're a team, remember?" she said. "Whatever it is, I'll do it . . . let's go."

Clark finally looked her over and noticed she was dressed in all black. "Is there a reason that you suspected that I might be needing you?"

She tipped her head and gave a little shrug. "I just bought a new outfit and wanted to see if you liked it."

Chloe had suggested last week that she be prepared for times like this—when Clark could possibly use her help.

Clark's eyes darted to her feet. "Military approved combat boots?" he asked with a raised brow.

She gave in with a sigh. "Well, I have ten pairs of pumps, three pairs of stilettos, four pairs of sandals, two sets of white sneakers, and my fuzzy bunny slippers. Can you think of a better option for my cloak-and-dagger disguise?"

He smiled. "Besides a _cloak_ and a _dagger?_"

"I'm not sure about the dagger, but I'm certain I could find a tight little trench coat if you're interested," Lana said.

He gave her a soft kiss. "Do you even have to ask?"

"No, but I sure enjoy it." Lana took Clark's hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. "Let's go get the serum . . . together."

Clark super-sped the two of them to the lab, then took out his cell and dialed Chloe. "Okay, we're ready. Loop the security cameras."

Lana grinned, wondering what Clark would ever do without Chloe. Superpowers were one thing, but super-friends were even better. Here it was well into the middle of the night and Chloe was still awake waiting for his go-ahead. Their original plan was to have Chloe loop the cameras hours ago, but things had to change—for a reason Clark had yet to reveal—and Chloe was still happy to help.

There had never been a moment of jealousy between Lana and Chloe, because they each had their place in Clark's life and were more than satisfied with that.

"Okay, what's our first move?" Lana asked Clark. He was looking at her with hesitation again. She wanted to sound confident, even though her stomach was in knots. She couldn't mess this up.

Clark took a deep breath. "Lana, I can't go in there with you—we'll need to communicate over our cell phones, but I'll tell you exactly what you need to do."

This wasn't what Lana was expecting. She figured Clark needed her help holding something, or distracting a killer dog, or . . . many things had gone through her mind, but not the possibility that Clark needed her to do it all on her own. 

There was only one explanation for that—whatever his weakness was, it was in the lab.

Lana pulled out her cell, and threw the large duffle bag Clark brought along over her shoulder. "Sounds good. How do I get in?"

An important part of their plan was to cover any evidence of a break-in. When they exposed this operation to the world, they wanted to catch them red-handed. And they couldn't take a chance on The Philosophers disappearing. They had to nail them, along with Lex.

Chloe had already disabled the alarms and electronic locks, so Clark simply opened a side door for Lana, and she used a flashlight to navigate the lab.

Clark explained that he watched Tate for an hour earlier, and knew where everything they needed was located. He first led Lana to where the research files were, then she found a copier and stacked the papers in the automatic-loading tray.

She pushed start and rolled her eyes at the slow speed of the printer. "What a freaking cheapskate," Lana said into her phone, thinking of Lex. "He could've at least bought a decent printer as part of his plan to take over the world, but _noooooo_."

Clark laughed while he navigated her to the next stop.

"My gosh, what's up with all the green stuff?" Lana asked, with her flashlight shining over several large bottles of green liquid. "I guess we know Lex's favorite color now."

Clark ended his laughing with a brief cough. "The serum is in the room straight ahead of you," he said.

She walked in to find five tables full of vials in laboratory stands. "Are you sure this is the right stuff?" she asked, picking up a vial. "The experiments in the other rooms were green, but this is . . . it's completely colorless."

"Yeah, that's it," Clark said. "Grab four vials from inconspicuous places—next to those other empty spots." It was nice to have a boyfriend who could see through walls, even in the dark.

Lana grabbed the four vials, put them carefully into a small pocket of the duffle bag, then headed toward the vault. As she walked, she couldn't help but look around—_what_ could it possibly be that posed such a threat to Clark? And worse, it frightened the hell out of her that Lex Luthor had access to it!

There was a lot of glass, and stainless steel in the lab. That was about it. She'd seen Clark around both those things and he'd never seemed the slightest bit concerned. Most of her wanted to stop trying to figure it out, since he didn't want her to know, but the curiosity was just too much. If she was going to protect him, and his secret, in any way that she could, she'd have to know how.

She reached the vault and Clark gave her the combination that he'd seen Tate use earlier. She had to try it a few times, since it was a tricky mechanism, but finally got it open. She hurried into the large vault, counted ten stacks of ten-thousand dollars each, then a little more—just as Clark instructed her—all the while saying things like: _Holy crap, this much money smells GOOD!_

Again, the bills were taken from inconspicuous places so they wouldn't be noticed, not unless someone counted. And with this much money, who would bother to count? There had to be over five million in there.

Oh, why couldn't she just be a _little_ naughty and take just one more pile of ten-thousand?

Lana resisted, of course, sticking the exact amount they needed to return to Matthew's family into the duffle bag. Then she had to laugh again as she noticed all the _green_ in the lab. Even the money was green.

Finally, she said to Clark, "If Lex wasn't such a turd, I might suspect that he supported Greenpeace. And his favorite band is probably Green Day . . . maybe he only likes green M&M's, and munches on green salad."

"And we know he's _green_ with envy that you're mine and not his," Clark said, laughing along with her. "But, believe me, he's no green rookie when it comes to women."

"Geez, Clark. You just made me throw up in my mouth," Lana said, seriously gagging. "What woman would _ever_ want to touch him?!" She shivered.

"Yeah! The completely hairless wonder!" Clark fired off.

"Ewwww!" Lana said, securing the vault. "Now my mind will be scarred for life by the vision of a _totally_ waxed Lex Luthor!"

"Well . . . " Clark said. "It's not because he waxes, he—"

"Clark, I swear, I'll never kiss you again if you don't stop talking about the places that revolting piece of crap is bald!" Lana said, trying to concentrate on finding her way back to the copier for the research papers. "Some things should never come out of a person's mouth—the word _Lex_ is one of them."

"Man, what I wouldn't give if I never had to say, or even think, that word ever again," he answered.

A few minutes later, Lana had replaced the original research where she found it, and stuffed the copies into her bag. She and Clark secured the doors again, then told Chloe to reestablish the live camera feed and turn the security system back on. With the black leather gloves Lana was wearing, they hoped they'd left the place spotless.

Clark super-sped them to Matthew's house, where Clark left the duffle bag on the couch, where his parents would soon wake to find it. Then he took Lana to her place—it was almost time to get ready for work.

Not wanting to face a nosy Lois at six in the morning, Clark kissed Lana outside her front door. "You look yummy in this new outfit," he said, moving his hands over her back. "Can you wear it again this Saturday night?"

Lana narrowed her eyes. "Are we robbing a bank this time?"

"You'll have to wait and see," Clark answered, then zipped his lips.

**Author's Note: Yes, I know this chapter is very short, but the next part is really important and I didn't want to rush it. So I'm posting it tomorrow ... that's right, TWO updates in TWO days from me. That certainly hasn't happened for a while. So, check back tomorrow night for, umm ... a special update: ) **

**Thanks for reading, everyone, whoever you are!**


	18. Chapter 18

**FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DIDN'T READ YESTERDAY'S NEW CHAPTER, GO BACK. THIS IS MY SECOND UPDATE IN TWO DAYS. ENJOY!**

**Chapter 46**

_ Downtown Metropolis _

Clark originally thought that taking Lana to the most upscale restaurant in Metropolis would be the best way to go . . . but Lex Luthor owned it. The next best, according to the socialites, was owned by Mr. Olsen. With Clark's luck, though, Mr. Olsen would show up and announce that Clark was about to propose and blow the whole thing!

So Clark had trudged down the entire list of best restaurants, with each being owned by one of the two billionaires in town, then he finally came to one that made him hit his head.

"Of course! Geez, why didn't I think of that?!" It wasn't the most expensive, or the best well-known . . . but it was the one that held the most meaning for the two of them.

Clark quickly picked up his phone and made reservations at Kung-Pow's, where they had spent their first date—the day they met.

Now that getting the serum for Matthew was out of the way, Clark could once again focus on his personal life. Matthew's parents were pulling off an elaborate scheme to make it look like he was taking a turn for the worse. They had brought him home from the hospital and arranged for hospice care—a sign that they were giving up.

Both Perry and John White's instructions, if they were contacted by The Philosophers, were to say they were letting Matthew go in peace. He was actually doing _very_ well since this last dose of cancer serum. It could possibly be the last one he needed. He was looking and feeling better with each new hour, but Clark had delivered the three extra doses, just in case he needed more.

Life was good . . . Lana was wonderful . . . and most importantly, she was about to become Clark's fiancée.

The problem was, Lana was definitely suspicious that _this_ was the big night. After all, it had been well over a month since Clark had _spoken_ to Lana's dad about marrying her, and since then, she had seemed anxious every evening they went out. A few times, he had noticed disappointment in her eyes and it killed him. With all that had been going on, he knew she understood his delay, but he had wanted this night to be very special—without the worry of Superman duty.

As earlier discussed with Chloe, Clark also wanted to be as much of a normal man as possible tonight. However, Chloe had suggested that because he had the capability of making things a bit more _magical_, that he ought to take advantage of that.

With that in mind, Clark hoped that what he'd carefully planned out would actually work.

Throughout dinner, both he and Lana were all smiles. It didn't seem like either had a care in the world, except for one another. When dinner was over and they were having dessert, Lana started acting peculiar—the waiter had suggested a certain dish, and Lana very gingerly spooned each bite into her mouth, like she was expecting to find something. Clark was amused by this, since he knew she definitely wouldn't find the ring she was looking for in _there._

The fortune cookies came and Lana cracked hers open with excitement, only to find a generic message—not a marriage proposal. Clark had to cover his mouth so she wouldn't get mad at him for being so amused.

Lana hesitantly left the restaurant, then saw that Clark was leading them toward the park where they had once talked so long, and nearly kissed, during their first date. She gave him a brief smile, hurrying to hide it. When they kept walking past the park, Lana stopped dead in her tracks. "Clark, let's . . . umm . . . swing for a while."

Clark did a little cheer inside—she'd taken the bait!

"Oh, okay. That sounds fun," Clark said, in a _whatever-makes-you-happy-dear_ sort of tone. "But there's a new playground at Metropolis park, and it has some cool-looking swings—gigantic A-framed ones. Do you want to try those instead?"

Lana hesitated, with both her shoulders and countenance dropping. "Yeah, sure. That's fine."

He could almost read her mind: _That big dumb alien. I guess he ISN'T proposing to me tonight!_

Ahh, being Clark Kent wasn't _so_ bad . . . not every guy could get away with acting like such a believable idiot.

They walked the three blocks to Metropolis Park, with Lana now easing up and acting like her normal, happy, self. It was clear that she was giving up on the whole "This is the Night" idea.

Hand in hand, they reached the playground, sitting at the edge of the lake. Clark pushed her high in the air on the A-frame swings. She squealed and laughed, finally saying she'd had enough—her stomach was in knots, along with her hair.

Clark sat in the swing beside her, and she jumped up and said, "Your turn now."

He laughed as she stood behind him with her tiny hands on his back. "Yeah, right! Like you could ever hope to move _this_ mountain of muscle."

"Hold on tight!" she said, shoving him forward so hard he almost fell off the back of the swing.

"Okay, I'll shut up now," Clark said, duly humbled. This girl of his was one tough chick. Even though he was determined to never again get her involved in a potentially dangerous situation, Clark was very impressed with how calm she was the other night at the lab. She had followed his directions to the letter and didn't give him a moment's worry that she couldn't pull it off.

The fact that the cancer serum wasn't made from refined meteor rock was a shock to Clark, considering that it came from a LuthorCorp lab. But now that he knew the research was originally watched over by Mr. Olsen, it made sense. The stuff was legitimate, and appeared to be a true cure—developed by brilliant scientists. It had just fallen into the wrong hands. Or, more accurately, was _stolen_ by the wrong hands.

Lana got Clark much higher into the air than he ever thought she could. He looked down at the ground, coming and going, and it made him strangely dizzy. That was plain ridiculous. He was Superman—he could fly to the moon, or around the world several times.

Maybe it was just Lana that made him dizzy. That smile of hers could do that to anyone.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, as he slowed down.

"The same reason I always look at you _like that_," he answered, coming to a stop and pulling her onto his lap. He started the swing again, holding her tightly against him. "Because you get more beautiful every time I see you."

She tipped her head, resting it against his chest. "Well, you make me _feel_ more beautiful every time you see me."

Clark lifted her chin and gave her a gentle kiss. "We're kinda happy together, aren't we?"

"Very," she said. "Very, very, happy."

Then Lana raised her head just a little, then a little more . . . turning toward the lake. "What is that?" she asked, motioning to a shadow at the edge of the water.

Clark perked up, too. "I don't know." He narrowed his eyes. "Maybe you should stay here while I check it out."

She hopped off his lap and headed over. "I seriously doubt the Loch Ness Monster frequents Metropolis Lake, silly." 

Clark followed, with a lingering expression of caution. 

"Oh, cool!" Lana said. "It's one of those rowboats from the other side of the lake—with the oars and everything." She started to climb in. "It probably got loose from the pier in yesterday's storm."

"Yeah, probably," Clark said, trying to hide his guilty smile. "We better make sure it's safe though. The storm could've—"

"Clark," Lana said, grabbing his hand and coercing him to step in with her. "It's a rowboat, not a rattlesnake." She looked at the bench before she sat, checking for water. "Oh my gosh! Look at these wildflowers. The wind must've blown them in from the meadow."

Clark had to give himself a mental pat on the back for that subtle touch. He'd scattered the wildflowers with care, so they'd look perfectly natural. Lana had commented on the beauty of the nearby meadow on several of their walks through the park.

He scooped the flowers off his own seat, handing them to Lana as a nice tidy bouquet. "How convenient," he said. "Someone must've known we were coming."

She took a long whiff of the beautifully scented blossoms. Even in fall, they still had their fresh scent of summer. The weather was steadily getting cooler, but tonight's air was fresh and crisp. The full moon reflected off the surface of the water like a spotless mirror. It provided just enough light for the mood Clark had hoped for.

Clark grabbed the oars and started rowing. They talked for a while, about the amazing path their relationship had already taken them down. Then Clark looked over the edge of the boat and asked with a smile, "So, what's the emergency plan if this thing tips over?"

Lana put a finger to her chin, in thought. "I guess that would be what our emergency plan _always_ is . . . you save me."

"_Me_ save _you,_, huh?" Clark asked. "So far, you haven't given me that opportunity. If my memory is correct, you're always the one saving me."

Lana was sitting across from him—to balance the boat—but with his extra hundred pounds, it wasn't doing much good. Her side was almost out of the water, so if she stood and shifted her weight toward Clark, they'd be in big trouble. 

"Hmmmm," Lana said. "I guess I need to go find myself some mischief to get into."

"Lana, finding me was getting yourself into _plenty_ of mischief," Clark said, finally arriving in a hidden cove. The meadow that Lana adored so much outlined its shore. "And as much as I do my best to show you, I look forward to the day, when you can _truly_ know how much I love you."

She reached out for him, and he pulled the oars inside the boat so he could take hold of her hands.

"That day is already here, Clark," she said, staring into his eyes with sincerity. "I've never felt so loved, or appreciated, or needed by anyone. Each new day, I fall more and more in love with you. And I can hardly wait for us to spend the rest of our lives together."

Clark took a deep breath, then smiled. "So . . . is that a 'yes'?"

Lana sat a bit straighter, giving a little laugh. "Did I _miss_ something, Clark?"

He uncovered her left hand. "I don't know . . . did you?"

She looked down with a puzzled smile, to find a band of diamonds on her ring finger. When she shot her head back up in shock, Clark was on his knee between the seats of the rowboat.

"Lana, will you be my wife?" he asked.

Her mouth moved but nothing came out until the third try. "Yes! Yes! YES!" she said, then kissed him about a dozen times. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she took another look at the sparking band of diamonds. "It's perfect, Clark . . . the most beautiful ring I've ever seen!"

Clark took her hand again, inspecting it closer in the moonlight. "Really? I thought _this_ was the one you liked the most."

When he tipped Lana's hand back toward her, her eyes widened even more, and she gasped. There on her finger, where the simple wedding band had just been, was now an elegant, emerald-cut pink diamond, with delicate white diamonds cascading down each side.

Lana gave her head a hard shake. "Oh my gosh . . . this is . . . "

Clark had his own tears to wipe away now, but didn't want to let go of her hands. "Yeah . . . " he said, " . . . the ring you picked out on our first date. I knew that very moment, that one day, I would be sliding it onto your finger."

She could barely speak through her emotion. "So did I—only I never expected anything like _this_ ring!" She laughed. "And I certainly couldn't have guessed that you'd be using super-speed to do it." Turning his other hand over, and finding it empty, she asked. "Hey, where's the other ring, I loved that one, too."

"That's the wedding band that goes with it," he answered with a kiss. "You don't get that until you say 'yes' the _next_ time."

They celebrated until their lips were practically chapped . . . only stopping when Lana heard music by Lifehouse playing softly from somewhere mysterious.

Clark reached under his seat and brought out a pair of small speakers, which were attached to his iPod. He strategically placed them in the boat, readjusted the volume, then stood and reached for Lana's hands.

"Have you ever danced on water?" he asked.

Lana looked up and gave a small shake of her head, her eyes still glistening.

"Neither have I," Clark said, stepping out of the boat with one foot, then levitating right above the water. "Hope it works."

He steadied his other foot, grateful that the water was as calm as he'd hoped, then helped Lana climb onto his feet. They danced for over an hour.

When they carefully climbed back into the rowboat, they had water lines up to their knees—from when Lana would cause Clark to lose his concentration. But, nevertheless, they were still as warm as they could be.

They were engaged.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (again) ... I'll be out of town the rest of this week, so I won't be able to post this coming Sunday. As soon as I get back, I'll start on a new update, so keep your eyes open for it. Hope this "special edition" will hold you over. Thanks for reading, everyone!!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 47**

_ The Daily Planet Building _

Clark had promised Mr. Olsen that he'd be the first to know when he and Lana became engaged. It was an easy promise to make back then, but ever since Mr. Olsen pinpointed similarities between Clark and Superman, Clark had been going to great lengths to avoid the guy. 

"Clark," Lana told him, as they entered The Daily Planet elevator, the Monday morning after their engagement. "Relax . . . you can't keep this up forever."

He gave her a nervous smile. "Is that a challenge?"

"You wish," she said. "But you work for him, so unless you want to quit your job and move us to a different city, then you're stuck with Mr. Olsen giving you double takes."

Clark hit the emergency stop button, that the two of them—single-handedly—had just about worn out. "I think I'll make a proclamation—that this elevator can only be used for two things: making out, and necessary transportation. Preferably simultaneously." He took Lana's fisted hands off her hips and placed them onto his. "That's better."

Lana kept talking between kisses. "Then you should've . . . oh, man, that . . . talked to me about . . . feels good . . . this last night when . . . you make me . . . I brought up the subject . . . crazy!"

He laughed. "I'm confused. Was that a complete sentence?"

She tipped her head. "A few of them, I think. I told you that you should've talked to me about this last night when I brought up the subject."

Clark shook his head. "That's not what _I_ heard. It was something about me making you feel good and crazy."

"Yes, you do make me crazy. In more ways than one," she said, then laughed as she batted him away. "Clark! Save something for the honeymoon."

"I am!" he said, going back to her neck. "I'm saving my _money_."

"Good, because we're going somewhere very, _very_ expensive," she said, finally making him stop. Clark had given Lana the honor of choosing where they would go, and she'd been doing secret research on the web. "So plan on bread and water for every meal until then."

Clark pulled back from her with a terrified expression. She smiled and put her hands on his face, saying, "Now, do I have your attention?" He nodded. "Good. Back to Mr. Olsen . . . I know you're worried that the more time you spend with him, the more he'll admire you, and the more likely he'll be to see through your disguise. But you can't go through life being afraid that someone will care enough about you to know who you are."

"But it's Mr. Olsen," Clark said, which explained enough.

"I know. But we also know that the man is fiercely loyal to both _you_ and Superman, isn't he?" Lana said. "He just about blows a gasket if someone so much as questions either one of your motives. Either one, as in _either one of you_." She laughed at herself, shaking her head. "Sometimes I feel like I'm dating conjoined twins." He was all over her again. "You certainly seem to have four hands."

"What, these?" he asked innocently, holding them out in front of her. But she still felt him. 

"Super-speed-groping is _so_ off limits," she said, giving him a gentle kiss. "At least until after work." She restored the motion of the elevator. "Now, behave." Just as the doors opened on the top floor, she looked Clark over with a sultry little smile. "Trust me, you'll be rewarded."

Clark straightened his tie with an obedient grin.

Mr. Olsen's assistant announced them, and they were greeted at his big double doors. "See, I wasn't kidding about the trampoline," Clark whispered to Lana.

Even though she'd believed what Clark told her about the office, it was still shockingly outrageous. Though it was clean and tidy, it looked like a large department store had been turned upside down and shaken—until the most eccentric of objects fell out and landed _here_.

Clark had failed to mention the three-hundred-gallon fish tank, which Lana went straight to. "I grew up with a saltwater tank—but _a lot_ smaller than this, of course. My dad was _obsessed_ with it. It's beautiful, Mr. Olsen."

"Thank you!" he replied. "I'm not _obsessed_ by any means, but I do enjoy it."

Clark's nose was nearly pressed up against the glass. "That hermit crab is _chasing_ a snail!" He tapped the glass, like it would scare the crab away. "C'mon, dude. He's gonna get ya!"

Leave it to Clark to try to save a snail.

Mr. Olsen folded his arms, scrunching up his face. "It's awful, isn't it? The circle of life?"

Lana squinted, watching the two men.

"You see, this hermit crab is a real bully—a Lex Luthor, really," said Mr. Olsen. "He'll kill the snail, just to get its home."

Clark looked mortified. "Go!" he cheered the snail on, who was slugging across the sand as fast as it could, with the cunning little crab right in its wake.

"My mom used to refer to our fish tank as our own personal soap opera," Lana said, daring to interrupt the _serious_ conversation.

"Oh, she was right!" Mr. Olsen said. "That's exactly what it is . . . you see, Mimi over here is a lovely yellow tang, whose content to chase bubbles all day." He pointed to the yellow tang, then to a purple tang swimming past it. "But Stella thinks she's better than her—with her pretty purple fins and perfect black stripes—_so_ much better that she teases and torments Mimi, even gossips about her."

"Sounds a lot like junior high, actually," Lana said, trying not to laugh. Mr. Olsen wasn't _at all_ obsessed with his tank, was he? 

"Stella gossips about Mimi?" Clark asked, fidgeting a bit. "What exactly does she say?"

Lana noticed something strange about Clark—his tie was on crooked, and his shirt wasn't tucked in all the way. Then a drop of water fell to the floor from the tip of his finger. Something was definitely _fishy_. She raised her brows at Clark and he motioned to where the snail and crab had been in their fierce battle. The snail was now alone.

Lana looked around for the hermit crab as Mr. Olsen, who was completely oblivious, explained what he suspected Stella did to belittle Mimi. " . . . Stella should stop her vicious teasing! Big deal if Mimi has Attention Deficit Disorder. It's not her fault. She can't help getting distracted—it's those darn bubbles. They're everywhere." Mr. Olsen spotted something on the floor. "Oh, look! My blue paperclip! Been looking for that since last week."

_Hurry, Clark! Save the paperclip!_ Lana wanted to say, laughing so hard to herself that she was sure her face was bright red. Mimi might have Attention Deficit Disorder, but Clark was definitely off the charts when it came to being Obsessive Compulsive. He just _could not_ help but come to the rescue—even for a snail.

She would have to keep a close eye on Stella—the gossiping alpha-fish from hell—who Clark was sure to "relocate" as well.

Mr. Olsen came up with the clip, holding it out with sheer pleasure on his face. "This is my lucky paperclip! It gave me my first kiss—when I was thirty-five."

"Oh," both Clark and Lana said, trying not to sound bewildered.

Lana couldn't decide if her reaction was due to Mr. Olsen kissing a paper clip, or that his first kiss happened at thirty-five. But if she'd reached that age without being kissed, she might've turned to office products, too.

"I'd been dating my wife for nearly a year by then, but still scared out of my mind to kiss her," Mr. Olsen explained. "Patty was a bank manager, and I went in one day to return some papers she'd left by accident in my car the evening before. While fidgeting around with the papers, hesitating to hand them over so I could stay longer, the paperclip wiggled loose and fell to the floor. We both bent to retrieve it, and I came up with a lump on my head." He sighed, with glassy eyes. "We both felt bad, but she went on her tiptoes and gave my bump a gentle kiss. I could barely speak, but I asked if she was okay, and she said she needed me to return the favor on the bottom of her chin, which she'd hit on my head. I gulped . . . she pulled me forward . . . then dropped her chin ever so slightly, and guess where my lips landed? And then I couldn't stop! A whole bank full of customers saw it."

"She tricked you," Lana said. "That's so sweet."

Mr. Olsen leaned into Lana. "And that's what you need to do to Clark . . . you may already have that kiss, but you need a proposal."

She smiled, holding out her left hand. "That's why we came to see you."

While Mr. Olsen leapt in the air with a whoop, Lana glanced over at a beaming Clark . . . who now had splashes of water on his trousers. She darted her eyes to the tank, but the _evil_ purple tang was still in there. What had he done now?

"Good job, Kent! Good job!" he said to Clark, pumping his arm up and down. "When's the date? Where's the location? What names have you picked out?"

"For?" Clark asked.

"Your children, doofus," Mr. Olsen answered, knocking on Clark's head.

That's when Clark and Lana couldn't _help_ but laugh, despite the usual sensitivity of the topic of children.

"Hey!" Clark said with a big grin. "I just put the ring on her finger _two_ days ago!"

Typical of Mr. Olsen, he was rushing them into their next step before they'd even caught their breath from the last. But in reality, they did have him to thank for speeding their relationship along, so Lana was grateful for that.

"Oh, fine—give me the date, then," said Mr. Olsen, a bit pouty. "I'll put it on my calendar." He stepped over to a gigantic board on his wall, pushed some buttons, and up came a scheduling menu.

"Cool," Clark said, taking Lana's hand and joining Mr. Olsen. Then he gave a tight cough. "But, umm, well . . . I don't know how to say this without sounding rude."

Lana held her breath, glad that she wasn't the one stuck with telling him.

"What, Kent?" Mr. Olsen asked. "You're not making me your best man? Don't worry . . . I didn't get my hopes up—too much, anyway."

"Actually, Mr. Olsen," Clark said. "I'm not having a best man . . . we've, umm, decided to have a _very_ small wedding. We're only inviting family."

Lana expected a super-sized shriek from Mr. Olsen, but it didn't come.

He gave a steady nod, instead. "Then you'll need a _spectacular_ honeymoon, won't you?"

"Exactly," Lana said, with a sigh of relief. Clark looked relieved as well that Mr. Olsen didn't seem offended that he wouldn't be invited to the wedding.

"Thank heavens you know me, then!" Mr. Olsen said, getting all excited. He raced over to his desk, threw open a drawer and pulled out a checkbook. "I've seen your salaries, kids, and they aren't pretty!" He shivered. "Remind me that you both need raises."

"Umm . . . wait," Clark said, rushing over. "We're okay, I promise."

He was already writing out a check. Lana hurried to stop him as well. "That's very generous, but like Clark said—"

"Nonsense!" Mr. Olsen said, waving them off. "I've been planning this since the day I saw you two together. Please don't ruin my fun." He handed them the check and they both gasped.

"Oh my gosh," Lana said. "That's _way_ too much. We don't need a trip around the world!"

Mr. Olsen looked thrilled by the happy couple's reaction. "Why not? I'll make sure you get the time off for it!"

"But still . . . it's too generous. Really, _it is_," Clark said. He was right. It was embarrassingly too generous.

"Look, at the rate Jimmy's going with Heidi, it'll be years until I get to do this again, so please shut your pie holes and take it," Mr. Olsen said, with twinkling eyes. "Go wherever you wish, spend like royalty, then use what's left at your leisure. It will make me feel like I've done some good in the world—you two deserve it for putting up with me." Clark and Lana shook their heads, starting to disagree, but Mr. Olsen shushed them with a loud burst of laughter. "Those words are straight from my wife."

A while later they left Mr. Olsen's office in pure shock. "Thirty-thousand dollars!" Lana said. "My gosh, Clark. We can't cash this check."

"I know, I'm freaking out," Clark said. "But what do we do? You heard him—he said if it isn't cashed by tomorrow, he'll be 'deeply offended'."

Her hands were making the check shake like a leaf in a storm. "Clark, the only way we can repay this is by returning the cancer research to him. Which we planned on anyway."

Clark nodded. "I guess it's true that what goes around, comes around . . . but sheesh! I never expected payment in the form of an actual check!" He looked over her shoulder. "Is it made out to Superman, by chance?"

She looked up to him with a soft smile. "It's got both our names on it. I guess we need a joint checking account. That sounds so official."

Clark pretended to choke. "Eeek! I better put you on a budget!" He got backhanded for that.

"Speaking of misbehaving—what did you do with that hermit crab?"

As they waited for the elevator, Clark gave a proud Superman stance. "I threw it out the window. A perfect pitch—right into Metropolis Lake."

Lana laughed. "Clark! It's a saltwater crab. It will die in fresh water."

He gave a sheepish frown. "Whoops," he said. "Good thing I couldn't catch the purple tang—Stella's gotta be the fastest fish on the planet. She made me splash all over the place, so I had to stop trying."

"Oh! So that's why your pants are wet," she said. "You can catch trains, but not a two-inch fish?"

He gave her a smirk. "Well, it was my first try," he said. Then he changed his voice to match The Terminator's. "I'll be back."

On the way to the news floor, Lana teased Clark about his compulsion to save _everything_ that walked, slithered, or swam. Then just as Heidi's desk came into view, they stopped, afraid to interrupt whatever Jimmy was saying to her. As comfortable as they seemed on dates, it always took a while for him to warm up.

Clark and Lana both put hands over their gasping mouths when Jimmy intentionally knocked a container of paperclips on the floor. He and Heidi bent to pick them up, but instead of Jimmy getting a loving bump on his head, like his father had, he came up with a bloody nose.

"Oh my gosh!" Heidi said, grabbing a box of tissues. "I'm so sorry!"

Clark gave a sad shake of his head. "Looks like I'll be giving Jimmy kissing lessons."

"There you go saving people again," Lana said, giving Clark a peck on the cheek. "But you're the best at it."

"At kissing or saving people?"

"Both . . . definitely both."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 48**

_ The Daily Planet News Floor _

Clark and Lana didn't want to embarrass Jimmy any more than he already was, so they allowed Heidi to do her best at cleaning up his bloody nose, then went to the photography office where they'd have to wait for him. They had a favor to ask.

A few minutes later, he finally moped in, with a tissue still pressed against his nose. "Hi," he said, quite nasally, of course.

"Hi," was the sympathetic reply from Clark and Lana.

"You okay?" Clark asked.

Jimmy shrugged. "No, but it's my own fault. I tried to get Heidi to kiss me."

"Oh," Clark said. So they'd been right about the paperclips Jimmy had spilled. "She has a good left hook, huh?"

Jimmy didn't think the joke was very funny. He sat in his swivel chair and dropped his head to the desk. "Ouch!"

Lana crouched beside him. "Is this the first time you've tried?"

He gave a sad nod.

"Well . . . could I give you a few pointers?" she asked with hesitation. "It might help for the next time."

Jimmy scrunched up his face. "There's not gonna be a next time."

Lana looked up to Clark with a _help me_ expression.

"Jimmy, if I gave up every time I made a fool of myself—"

"Right, Clark," Jimmy interrupted him. "You've told me that before. But no matter how stupid you look when you're talking to Perry White, you're too cool to look dumb in front of girls."

Clark had to process that _compliment_ before he spoke, so Lana answered for him. "Has he ever told you about the day we met?"

Jimmy squinted, shaking his head.

Lana smiled at Clark. "It was my first day at work, and I'd gone to the roof to get a break from the guys on the news floor, who were practically doing mating dances around my desk," she said. Clark still resented those guys, but not half as bad as they hated him for taking Lana off the market. "I leaned against a brick wall to relax a bit, when all of a sudden the door flew open and came within an inch of giving me an extreme makeover."

Clark rolled his eyes. "An inch? Whatever . . . I swear, Jimmy, that door gets closer to killing her every time she tells this story."

Lana backhanded him. "_Anyway_, he stumbled through an apology, and when I introduced myself, he just stared at me—open mouthed . . . for like _forever._"

Clark couldn't dispute that part.

"I couldn't help it. She was just so beautiful," he said, looking her over the same way he had that day on the roof. Every day she became prettier. "And when I finally shook myself out of a trance, I realized she was holding her hand out to me. For a second, I couldn't remember what I was supposed to do with it." He took Lana's hands in his. After a moment, he squinted. "What did you see in me, anyway? I was acting like a complete idiot."

"I saw a man who was so nervous that he took my breath away," Lana said, her eyes twinkling as she looked up to Clark—as if she was fully reliving the moment, just as he was. "And I saw your kind, _gorgeous_ eyes, and felt the soft, lingering touch of your hand—that I didn't want to let go of. Then, it was your smile that sealed the deal. I knew that you'd always be mine."

Jimmy darted his attention between the two of them. "Is that when you kissed her?"

Clark slowly shook his head, still lost in the moment. "I wanted to." He wanted to right then, too.

"Gaaawwwwwsssshhhh," Jimmy said. "If I look at Heidi that way, she'll definitely want me to kiss her."

Lana gave a nod, still looking at Clark. "No doubt about that."

"So, what happened when you kissed for the first time?" asked Jimmy, sitting on the edge of his seat. "Where did you put your hands, and how did you move your lips, and did you just lean over, or ask her . . . or surprise her, or . . . "

Jimmy continued with a list of possibilities, but none of them came anywhere near a description of that moment when Clark lowered Lana from the horse and the rest of the night was a mad, passionate blur. That wasn't something he wanted to share with Jimmy. Not only would it scare Jimmy to death, but it was just too personal.

"How about if I explain what happened the first time I _almost_ kissed her?" Clark said, making Lana smile again. "It was still the first day that we met, and we went to dinner, then to a park. As beautiful as I'd thought she was earlier that day, it didn't even come close to how I felt after I got to know her. I knew she was my soul mate—the woman I'd always dreamed of finding, but doubted I ever would." He ran his hands along Lana's arms. "When I touched her like this, she shivered, and I thought she was cold—"

"When I'd actually never felt that warm in my entire life," Lana whispered.

Jimmy whispered, too. "And it made you want to kiss him?"

She smiled. "Oh yeah."

"AND?" Jimmy said, insistent that they finish the story.

Clark obeyed. "And I stepped closer . . . " which he did, " . . . and then I leaned in a little . . . and then . . . there were _sirens_."

"Noooooooo!" Jimmy said, with a disappointed groan.

"_But_," Clark continued. "If we wouldn't have been interrupted, I would've . . . " he leaned in again, " . . . taken her face in my hands like this . . . and then tipped her head to the side just a bit . . . like this . . . and then . . . " His lips met Lana's and she went limp, with all her weight against him.

Clark didn't look, but it sounded like Jimmy had fallen to the floor.

Lana whispered against Clark's lips. "We need to get back in the elevator. Like, right now."

Then they heard a disgusted moan. "What _is_ this place? A break room for voyeurs?" Lois said, standing in the doorway with an annoyed tip of her head. "Try the internet, Jimmy."

"You guys posted your first kiss on the internet?" Jimmy asked, hurrying back into his chair.

Lois rolled her eyes. "Oh, Geez. Get a life."

Clark was about to tell her off, but Jimmy said, "I know . . . I know, Lois. The first time I saw them kiss, it freaked me out, too, but you've _got to_ have them tell you what happened the first time Clark almost kissed her . . . wowsers . . . I bet you'll want _your_ first kiss, too."

Lois dropped her jaw. "Oh my gosh! Someone call the Geek Squad—we have a stray."

"Lois!" Lana said, clearly appalled.

That's when Lois saw something sparkly. She grabbed Lana's hand, then looked at Clark. "You're _engaged_!?" Then without any words of congratulations, or even hesitating for a reply, she added. "Kent, I need to talk to you. In the hall. Now."

"No!" was Clark's instant reply. Lana looked so hurt that Clark's first thought was to pitch Lois out the window, into Metropolis Lake with the killer hermit crab. "What's wrong with you?"

"You're an idiot!" Lois answered. "That's what's wrong with me! You've _always_ been an idiot and you're about to make the biggest mistake of your life! And that's really saying something."

Lois had been out of town for the weekend, so she hadn't seen the ring yet. They'd expected a snarky remark or two, since she still brought up her _Lana-is-cheating-on-you_ angle whenever she had an opportunity, but this was outrageous.

Lana let go of Clark and headed toward the door, but Clark grabbed her. "You're not the one who needs to leave," he told Lana. "Get out of here, Lois. You have no right at all to talk to me that way . . . or embarrass me . . . or even _pretend_ to be my friend anymore. I've tried to patch this up with you, but whatever stick you have shoved up your—"

"Clark," Lana said, putting a hand over his mouth. "You've said enough."

Lois left, with her face as red as an inferno.

Clark hugged Lana. "I'm sorry, she just—" he didn't know how to finish. He couldn't understand why Lois was so bitter about the whole thing. If she knew that he was actually Superman, it would make more sense, but . . . he shook his head . . . she couldn't . . . could she?

"What were you saying about a stick?" Jimmy asked, confused. "I didn't get that part."

Clark doubted Jimmy got any of what Lois had just said.

"Don't worry about it," Lana said. "It's not a big deal."

"But this ring is!" Jimmy said, taking a look with wide eyes. "I hope Clark can afford a _white_ diamond one day, but this will do." He glanced up with a smile to find Clark and Lana's looks of amusement. "Congratulations, though. That's nifty."

"Thanks," they answered. Then Lana tagged on, "We've only told your dad, and we were hoping to tell our friend, Chloe, if you'll take a picture of the ring for us. We want to send an email attachment, so she can see it while I explain all the juicy details."

Mr. Olsen wasn't _technically_ the first to know about the engagement—Clark's mom was—but for the sake of keeping Clark's promise as well as he could, Mr. Olsen had been the next.

They couldn't have waited this long to tell Martha, she would've bitten her nails off. Chloe, however, knew what Clark had planned, and when he was going to propose, as well as what Lana's answer would be. She was just waiting to see the ring.

"Sure!" Jimmy said, turning to grab his camera. "Then after this, I'm going to see Heidi, and I'm going to _kiss_ her. I really am."

Lana said, "Well, remember how I told you that I had a bit of advice to offer?"

Jimmy nodded with a grin.

She tipped her head. "Don't do it at work. Take her somewhere special . . . make her feel beautiful . . . then give her a moment she'll never forget."

Jimmy beamed, looking like he had the perfect place in mind. "Like ComicCon?"

Clark swallowed. "How about a park . . . under the glow of the moon."

"Oh. Okay," Jimmy said, focusing his camera on Lana's ring. "That sounds good enough."

-- -- --

Lois was near tears as she stormed out to her car in the parking garage. The tears weren't from sadness, but from being humiliated—time and time again—by Clark and his two-timing fiancée.

It wasn't about protecting Clark from being hurt anymore, it hadn't been for a while now. It was about proving her point—showing Clark that she was right, and that he was _wrong_. As always.

Lana had stolen the spotlight from Lois for the last time. She was about to get a nice slap to the face. She was also about to be set up . . . to give Lois the indisputable proof that she was cheating on Clark with Superman.

All Lois needed was a quick trip to one of her best underground techies, and Lana would be jetting back to New York, waving a white flag in her manicured hand.

It also wouldn't be bad to shove Superman's reputation where the sun doesn't shine. What kind of hero would try to steal another man's fiancée? 

It served him right for dumping the best thing that ever happened to him.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 49**

_ Lana's Apartment _

It had been a long day for Lana, but Clark was on Superman duty—trying to gather more evidence about _The Philosophers_—and she didn't want to go to sleep that night until she learned how much progress he'd made.

Lois was out of town again, working on a story she had to get to Perry White the following week, so Lana had made Clark a wonderful meal at _her_ place for once, and they'd skipped the cleaning up part for making an even bigger mess—with the couch cushions.

After Clark had reluctantly left—promising to come back for a goodnight kiss—Lana finished their dinner dishes, got out her laptop, and did some more research for their honeymoon. She didn't want Clark to figure out where they were going, however, so she positioned herself on the couch so that she could flip the monitor shut if he super-sped into the living room to surprise her. Knowing him, he would. And knowing her, she'd scream.

It wasn't like she could look at the clock and think, "Oh how nice, Clark will be coming home any minute now," like a typical suburban housewife could. Lana never knew what to expect from one night to the next. On a regular outing, Clark would patrol the streets from the sky, x-ray into known criminal hangouts, and scare off a few would-be offenders. It usually only took a couple hours, give or take a bit. He kept up the routine to keep the ruffians of the city on their toes, knowing if they stepped out of line, they could very well end up with a SUPER-sized headache.

Sometimes, however, Clark really did run into serious trouble—which often made it an all-nighter. She really hoped tonight wouldn't be that way, because she was anxious to cuddle up with him again . . . even though he'd only been gone for two hours. Two hours was _plenty_ long for a swept-off-her-feet woman to be away from her man. A minute without him sometimes felt like an eternity.

Since their engagement, two weeks ago, Lana had been continually distracted by her engagement ring—just as she was right then. She held out her hand, moved it back and forth ever so slightly, and watched shimmers of light bounce of each delicate facet of the pink diamond. And then she gave a happy sigh, surfed the web for a few minutes more, then started the ritual all over again.

The happy sigh got longer every time. Lana really couldn't believe she was getting married! Not just to anyone, either, but to Clark! His effect on her increased with each new day. Her toes still curled in her shoes, her skin still shivered at his touch, and his kiss continued to make her feel so passionate that she was _sure_ there had to be some sort of law against it. No wonder they'd been kicked out of so many public places.

They had many, many happy years ahead of them.

With that in mind, Lana had been flirting a bit with some research on adoption. It wasn't that she wanted a child the day they returned from their honeymoon, but with the money Mr. Olsen had given them—to use at their discretion, as long as it also helped pay for their honeymoon—she and Clark had some budgeting to do.

Adoption was very expensive, she discovered, so they could either blow their whole wad of cash in one shot by taking an extended trip to Europe—which she'd _love_ to do—or they could go along with Lana's original plans for a getaway, and have enough in savings to adopt when the time was right. The rest they'd put away for their future, which seemed to be coming upon them very quickly since they were already making such important decisions to affect it.

One critical decision being her job offer as the nightly news anchor. Tonight, she'd told Clark of her decision to turn it down. He disagreed at first, worrying that she was giving up her dream just to spend more time with him. That was definitely part of it, since she _loved_ seeing him so much at her current job, but Lana had given him an even more solid argument than that.

"Clark, my dream of being a news anchor was imagined when I was a freshman in college—when marriage and family seemed a lifetime away," she had said. "But a solid family life _is_ my dream now . . . _you_ are my dream now. I have no hesitations at all about this decision, and I'm absolutely positive that I'll never regret it."

It would be selfish for her to take the job for a short period of time—until they either had a child, or were so frustrated about the little time they had to be together that she just up and walked out on it. The job should go to someone who planned to invest a lot more time—to make it a priority in their life. Lana wasn't interested in that kind of career anymore. When she met Clark, all her plans changed . . . her _world_ changed.

At half past midnight, the phone rang—not Lana's cell, but her actual apartment phone. That happened so rarely that it completely startled Lana. She leaned over to the sofa table and answered.

"Hello."

A deep voice, which sounded altered by some sort of device said, "I know you're alone . . . but you won't be for long."

Lana's spine straightened, sending sparks to every nerve ending in her body. She didn't take the time to respond to the caller. She hung up and ran across the room to get her cell out of her handbag.

Dialing Clark as fast as her trembling hands would let her, she said, "Please pick up please pick up please pick up . . . "

"Hey, babe, I was just—"

"Clark! Help!" Lana screamed.

Less than five seconds later, Clark was holding her in his arms. Both their hearts were pounding like bass drums—especially since Clark had gone straight through the glass patio door. Shattered glass was everywhere.

"What?! What?!" Clark kept asking her, but she was crying too hard to answer.

She finally pointed to the phone, stuttering, "Someone called . . . he said . . . he knew I was alone."

Clark gathered her even closer, and for the first moment, she noticed he didn't have a shirt on. "Are you all right?" she said, searching his skin for shards of glass—or even scratches.

"Of course I am," he said. "You just freaked me out so bad, I didn't even think to open the door. Now, tell me about the caller . . . " he kept a tight hold on Lana as he squinted and x-rayed the apartment, " . . . we're alone, don't worry."

She nodded against his warm chest. "I'm glad you got here so fast. I'm okay . . . it was probably just a prank call."

"Did he say anything specific, like your name? Or anything at all that hinted that he knew who you were, or where you lived?"

Lana shook her head, now feeling kinda stupid for overreacting like that. She wiped her tears away. "You're marrying a chicken, did you know that? My gosh, that scared me to death!"

Clark looked just as shaken as she was. "Lana, promise that you'll never take anything like this lightly—I have a lot of enemies," he said, stroking her back. "If someone, especially Lex, ever suspected that you knew I was Superman, my biggest fear is that they'd go after you."

"I know that, Clark," she said, wishing she didn't have to admit that this was a fear of hers as well. "But it's a false alarm this time, I'm sure it is. I'm sorry I worried you."

"Don't ever be sorry," he said with a half-smile. "When your safety is concerned, anything is worth interrupting—even changing out of my suit, which you obviously caught me doing."

Her smile was more generous than his, now that her nerves were calming. "Remind me to interrupt you a little sooner next time," she said, looking over his deliciously toned body. He had jeans on and that was it—no socks, no shoes, no shirt. Then Lana gave a little cough. "Umm, you, uhh, missed zipping up."

Clark's red face dropped to his zipper.

"Made ya look," Lana said with a little laugh. 

It was good to joke after such a terrifying experience. How silly of her! At least Clark wasn't rolling his eyes at her reaction to the prank call. He'd never mocked any of her stupid moments of weakness.

Clark scooped Lana off the floor, tickled her for teasing him about his zipper, then said, "Prank call or not, I'd feel much better if you stayed at my place tonight."

"I'm _sure_ you would," she said. "But what are we supposed to do about the broken patio door?"

"I'll clean it up . . . it'll take me about ten seconds," he said, looking over the mess. "Then we'll replace the door in the morning."

"Lois is supposed to be home early—surely before we can get a fix-it man here."

"Okay, well, just tell her that a bird ran into it," Clark said, completely serious.

"A bird?" Lana asked with a smirk.

Clark tried again. "A plane?"

"Superman," Lana said, roughing up his hair. "You have a lot of special abilities, but brainpower isn't always one of them."

Clark kissed her. "Thanks, sweetie. I guess I'll leave the _thinking_ to my better half."

-- -- -- --

If Lois had had a heart condition, she would've been flat-lining. She lay motionless on the floor of the empty apartment across the hall—the one that used to belong to Travis.

"Clark is Superman?" she muttered to herself. The thick words stuck on her tongue like honey. "Superman . . . Clark?"

She shook her head hard, sitting up to rewind the footage of what the micro-cameras and listening device had recorded.

Someone must've slipped a hallucinogen into her coffee. That was the only explanation for what she'd just witnessed.

Lois pushed play, speeding through the part where Lana was just sitting on the couch with her laptop for hours. Lois stopped when the phone call she'd made to Lana was picked up. She'd known that would scare Lana enough to call Superman to rescue her.

Lois had overheard Lana talking to Supes on the phone before—she'd known it was him because they were talking in specific detail about a car accident Superman had just helped out at. Lois had been on the scene, too—reporting—and Clark hadn't been there.

At least that's what she'd thought! Only . . . Clark _was_ there!

"Oh my . . . " Lois was fluent in a lot of curse words, and she said every one of them as she re-watched Clark smashing through the patio window—or rather the _blur_ of Clark doing that—then appearing out of thin air to wrap Lana in his arms.

That would've been enough to process, but then he had said he was Superman! And he seemed to have used his x-ray vision . . . and super-sped around the room to clean up the shattered glass.

There was no denying this. Clark really was Superman.

But _how?_ How could she have spent so much time with both of them and not known that?

She wiped her mouth without realizing it . . . she'd kissed _Clark!_ Eww . . . but wait . . . wow . . . he'd never kissed her the way she'd just seen him kiss Lana on the couch after dinner!

Lois shook her head to get her brain back to the topic.

She'd been asking herself _how_ . . . that's where she was. But Clark and Superman looked so different—that was her next confused thought.

Then the answer hit her square between the eyes.

When Superman had confronted her about the book she was writing, she'd told him that she loved him—out of desperation—and he'd claimed that was impossible because if she'd truly loved him, she could've seen through his disguise!

"So when he has on his suit . . . he looks different," she said, reflecting to herself. "Which means Lana must've seen through his disguise . . . and she hasn't been cheating on Clark after all . . . and I've made a total ass of myself . . . and they've been laughing at me this whole time! And Clark has known every single time I've lied to him about me and Supes . . . and he's been lying his butt off to me, too! For years! . . . Ohhhh, I hate him!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

She was mad. Really mad! Then she just about kicked a hole in the wall when the next thought came. "I bet Chloe knows, too!!"

Thinking through all the times Clark, Lana, and Chloe must've made fun of her ignorance, Lois shoved the surveillance equipment into her duffle bag as quickly as she could. With friends like this, who needed enemies? Lex Luthor wasn't looking so bad right then.

Lois was gonna make herself a million bucks!


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 50**

_ Uptown Metropolis _

It was no secret where Lex Luthor lived. His penthouse at the top of Luthor Crown Plaza was legend. The place he now called home was more than twice the size of his former mansion in Smallville—three floors of personal living space, one floor for the help, and another floor with guest suites.

Lois was still shaking with anger as she pulled in front of the Plaza. She'd been humiliated, scoffed at, and brushed to the side by her so-called friends.

Why hadn't _she_ been worthy of the secret? Lana had just worked her way under Clark's skin—the skanky seductress—so that wasn't so hard to figure out. Maybe she hadn't seen through his disguise after all. Clark had probably been so enamored with her, that he spilled the beans just to get her wrapped around his steel-plated pinky finger. Stupid Clark!

He was such a sucker. It had been so darn easy to play him—well, at least to play _Superman._ But how had Lana convinced him to tell her the truth?

And how had Chloe done it? Why was _she_ so privileged? And how long had she known? URG! That thought made Lois shiver with spite!

They'd spent countless hours going through the possible scenarios of what Superman must do in his real life . . . and who he could possibly be. All the while, Lois now saw that Chloe was steering her completely off course.

Just a few weeks ago, Chloe's latest suggestion was: "Lois! I bet he's a popular hairstylist! You know how they know _everything_ going on in the city. What a great cover that would be for him to listen in on conversations. And he'd never have to worry about running into Lex Luthor at a hair salon, would he?"

Lois had actually taken that into consideration. Supes did have very nice, beautifully-colored hair. Much nicer than Clark Kent's mop. Geez, no wonder she'd missed the connection.

It was bad enough that Clark hadn't trusted her with his secret . . . bad enough that he'd just kept on showing up on her patio night after night—answering her endless questions, giving her that charming smile. But why had Chloe gone to such lengths to protect Clark from her?

When Lois put her car into park, the Crown Plaza doorman leaned over and took a peek through her window that she'd previously rolled down to get some air. He squinted and said, "Can I help you, Miss . . . ?"

"Umm . . . " Lois said, trying to steady her breaths.

"Yes?" asked the doorman. "Are you a guest of one of our residents?"

"Well . . . " she said, fidgeting with the windshield wipers that she'd just accidentally turned on.

"What's your name?" he asked, impatiently now. "Who are you here to see?"

Lois shook her head. "No one . . . I . . . I got lost, that's all," she said, then threw the car into drive and hit the gas pedal.

The previous question she'd asked herself seeped into her mind again . . . _Why had Chloe gone to such lengths to protect Clark from her?_

The answer was now obvious to Lois. Time and time again, she'd proved that she was willing to throw _anyone_ under the bus to get her story. Chloe had heard Lois confess several times that she didn't really love Supes, and that Clark irritated the hell out of her.

Lois had given both Clark and Chloe a thousand reasons not to trust her, and she'd been within an elevator ride of giving them a _million_ more.

_When did I become such a monster?_ she asked herself, her eyes now stinging as she drove through the city. When had she become so obsessed with success that she was willing to risk the life of her friend to get it?

And if she'd taken the video to Lex, Clark wouldn't have been the only one placed in danger's way. Lana couldn't have escaped Lex's wrath either . . . nor Chloe, who was sure to be dragged into it. And Martha Kent as well.

Not to mention the millions of people who would lose their hero.

"What was I thinking?" Lois said out loud. No matter how betrayed she felt for being left out of the Supes Circle, she couldn't go through with this. Lex wouldn't think anything of using cruel and deadly ploys to get Superman in his pocket. He'd be twice as vindictive if he discovered that Supes was his old buddy, Clark Kent.

Lois wiped her tears away as she pulled into Metropolis Park. She was going to smash the video disk and throw the pieces into the lake.

She got out of her car, with her duffle bag in tow, and felt around for the recording device. "_Where is it!?"_ she said, panicked. She had too much crap in the bag to find it in the dead of night, so she opened her car door again and sat in the driver's seat so the overhead lamp could light her way.

Just as her hand wrapped around the recorder, she heard the soft drone of a car pulling into the small parking lot she was in. The lights were off, so the shape of the vehicle was clear, and much too familiar. It was Luthor thugs.

Lois fumbled for her keys, but knew there wasn't time. And she doubted that she could get past the car anyway—the entrance to the lot was too narrow.

She grabbed the recorder and ran.

The car sped up, flipping on it's headlights, and screeching to a halt when it reached the path at the edge of the parking lot.

"My phone! My phone! Where's my damn phone!?" she said, trying to balance the recorder as she felt around in her pockets. She knew it wasn't there . . . it was in her car . . . but she couldn't stop her hands from searching for it. "I'm gonna die! I'm gonna freaking die!"

Heavy, _fast_ footsteps have a tendency to make your adrenaline kick in like nothing else. She could've medaled in the Summer Olympics right then, if it wasn't for all the trees she was attempting to steer around to lose her pursuers.

There was a clearing of charcoal black straight ahead . . . that had to be the lake. _Now what?_ If she chucked the whole recorder into the water, they wouldn't have any trouble finding it. She had to get the disk out!

Lois pushed every button she could find, but none of them seemed to be Eject. The water came closer and closer. She only had moments . . . and then . . . it was there.

She jumped!

Lois trudged through the shallow water, with thick mud weighing down each step. "Why'd I have to wear my tightest jeans?" she mumbled under her breath. Being wet, they were even harder to get her legs to move in. 

As soon as she could, she started swimming—with the recorder in her hand. It was sure to short out by being submerged, but would that be enough to destroy the disc? She wasn't sure. Lex had plenty of techies on his payroll who could possibly restore it.

Two gigantic splashes informed her that the thugs knew how to swim. _Damn!!_

The recorder made a gurgling sound, then a . . . "Was that a CLICK?" Lois couldn't help but cry. "Please, please!" she said, praying she'd find an open door on the recorder as she depended entirely on her legs to propel her forward.

Her fingers rejoiced when they touched the smooth surface of the video disk. She took it out, let the heavy recorder sink, then went on her back so she could focus on the disk.

The first effort of breaking it in two worked! She wasn't surprised since she felt she had the strength of a gorilla right then. The second snap broke two of her nails. "I'm _so_ making Clark pay for those," she mumbled.

Was that enough? Could she drop the disk yet? She dropped one piece . . . swam another twenty feet and dropped the second piece, then another ten feet and dropped the third. She was getting close to the shore—thank heaven she happened to be at such a narrow spot of the lake.

The fourth piece of the disk was a problem, since she couldn't dump it so close to the shore, where it could easily wash up. She didn't know how this video stuff worked. If they got just a fourth of the disc, could Lex somehow see a fourth of the video? That would surely be plenty.

Lois slugged through the mud when her feet finally touched land. She was so exhausted she was sure she'd collapse, but the continued sloshing of strong arms coming up behind her kept Lois going.

And going and going. Just as Clark always claimed her mouth did.

_Clark!_ That was it! She had to make it to Clark's! It was only three or four blocks from the park . . . or was it five or six?

Dang, why hadn't she visited him more often? She was pretty sure she knew what building it was, and she remembered that he lived on the top floor.

Easy enough. She could out run these creeps. They had to be old, and their hearts had to be pumping more cholesterol than blood, right?

Unfortunately, their constant noise behind her proved they weren't as fond of donuts as she hoped. They just kept coming! And she still had the fourth piece of disk to get rid of. They were too close for her to toss it.

Finally, she rounded a corner and saw a drunk man stumbling into a taxi in front of a bar. She pushed him aside, slid into the back seat of the taxi, then pulled the sloshed man down beside her and slammed the door.

"Hullloooo," the man said, seeming quite interested in the situation as she sunk lower into the seat, burying her face under his smelly coat.

"Umm, hi, honey," Lois said, loud enough for the driver to hear. "Been looking all over for you."

"Been looking for _yuuuuuu_ tooooooo—" he slurred.

"Fifth and Canal Street," Lois snapped to the driver. "And hurry!"

She saw the flash of the two thugs pass her taxi, then they suddenly stopped and looked around.

"And do a u-turn here, please!" Lois continued.

"But Canal Street is—"

"Just do it!"

The taxi driver groaned, but followed her command.

Five minutes later, the taxi reached the building that Lois hoped Clark still lived in. It had been two years since she'd reluctantly come here to watch the Super Bowl with Chloe.

"Hey, where uuuuuuuuu goin'?" asked the very disappointed drunk.

"To get you more booze, pumpkin," she said, patting his cheek. "I'll catch up with you at home."

She shut the door and ran for it. Clark's building wasn't the type to have a doorman, but it had an old intercom system that only listed the apartment numbers.

Lois started pushing the highest numbers, sure they had to be on the top floor. "Clark!" she said, when a man sleepily answered the page.

"No!"

"Geez!" Lois said. "What's _his_ problem?" Then she remembered that it was probably three in the morning.

Someone answered the next call, too . . . and the next four . . . then five and six . . . but none of them were Clark. 

Finally, with her heart threatening to pop her size D implants, she told the next tenant to answer, "My brother is in serious trouble—he's diabetic! I have to get in the building to help him, he's not answering!"

That got her in.

Lois took the elevator to the top floor, knocked softly on a scattered doors—unfortunately running into a few people she'd previously bothered—then found a woman with a Fran-Drescher-like voice who said, "Clark? Oh yeah—the cute guy with the buns of steel . . . " _WHAT!? Was Lois the only one who didn't know that Clark was Superman?_ " . . . he lives at the end of the hall—right there." She pointed. "But he's already got a girl with him."

Lois tipped her head. "Dang. Thanks anyway." Was she also the only woman on the planet who didn't think Clark was _cute_? She was so tired of being left out.

When she finally reached Clark's door, she didn't bother to knock softly. She could hardly stand.

Clark and Lana both came to the door, shocked by her appearance—dripping wet, and fever red.

Looking panicked, they grabbed her and led her inside—asking concerned questions—but all Lois could do was hand Clark the last piece of broken disk and say, "Crush this."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 51**

_ Clark's Apartment _

Lana shut and bolted the door behind Lois.

Clark had given Lois a _what-the-heck?_ look after she told him what to do with the last piece of broken disk.

"Crush it!" Lois repeated. "Burn it, freeze it, eat it . . . I really don't care! Just get rid of it, fast!"

Clark still didn't answer, only swallowed hard. Lana took the piece of disk from Lois. "I'll take care of it," she said. "Clark, can you please find some dry clothes for Lois?"

He coughed. "Umm, sure . . . yeah." 

Lois was sure should wouldn't get the truth out of Clark—not unless she exposed exactly what she'd been doing with the surveillance equipment. And that would make her look really sick and twisted.

That's when Lois got one of her evil ideas: she wasn't going to tell him that she knew he was Superman. Seriously, how much fun would _that_ be? She could have a lot better time if she held back for a while and played him until he lost his little farm boy mind. _Yay! What a great idea!_

"What happened, Lois?" Clark asked, truly seeming concerned. That kinda surprised her, unless he was just worried that she knew the truth. _Dang_, she shouldn't have said _freeze it_. Maybe that gave too much away. "It's the middle of the night, and you're soaking wet . . . and you're supposed to be out of town."

"That was just my cover. Duh!" she said, shivering as Clark handed her one of his enormous plaid button downs. "Umm, no way in hell, Kent," she said, looking down on it. "I'm sure Lana's tossed enough clothes around here that an extra set of something decent is lurking _somewhere._"

Right on cue, Lana walked into Clark's bedroom, to the closet that they were standing in front of. "I think the only thing I've accidentally left here is my trench coat," Lana said. "But unless you plan on flashing people in Metropolis Park, that might not be your best choice."

Lois gave her a smirk and grabbed a t-shirt from one of Clark's hangers. "Oh, it's red—how original," she said. She dropped the shirt on purpose, to see if he had any other red things hidden in his closet—like a pair of red boots. Nope. _Where does he hide it all?_

She stood again and scanned the closet, but was sure Clark wouldn't have taken her in there if his suit was hung up all nice and tidy. "Anything else for me to wear?"

Lana sighed. "You can have my pajamas," she said, taking Clark's long t-shirt from Lois. "I'll be back in a sec."

On the video, Lois had seen Lana grab a duffle bag and stuff it full of a few things before they left the apartment. She was still surprised, though, that either of them were dressed at all when they came to the door. They got there too fast to have thrown their clothes on. 

Maybe Lana was as squeaky-clean as her snobby, self-righteous persona professed to be. _Nah!_

"Again, Lois, what happened to you?" Clark insisted. "Are you in some kind of danger?"

Lois put a hand on her hip. "What if I was? Would you call Superman?"

"Maybe. If I needed to," he said.

"And how _exactly_ could he help me?"

Clark rolled his eyes. "Gosh, I don't know. Maybe he could blow dry your hair."

She gave a curt nod. "Oh, then _no_. I don't need his help." She shook her head like a wet dog, spraying Clark right in the face. "My hair is dry enough."

When Clark opened his eyes, he said, "You know what, Lois? Let's just call the police and you can tell them your story. Because Lana and I have another three hours of sleep ahead of us."

Clark went to the phone on his nightstand. _He's bluffing_, Lois thought. But then she heard Clark dial the numbers: 9-1-1.

"Okay, wait," she said, rushing over. "I'm sorry. I'll tell you."

Clark hung up.

"Here you go, Lois," Lana said, exiting the bathroom.

Lois grabbed the pajamas from her. "Just let me get dry first, okay?"

Clark nodded, then started to explain things to Lana. He was having a hard time looking at her face, though, with her legs sticking out the bottom of the t-shirt—from her thighs down.

"Maybe you could wrap her in something," Lois said. "Oh . . . like a blanket, or a cape." She could hear Clark gulp from inside the bathroom. She opened the door again to say, "Hasn't Supes given you one as a souvenir yet? I know I sure enjoy _mine_."

"Maybe I could wrap something around your _mouth_," Clark said with a smirk.

Lois took her time changing, laughing just about the whole time. In the last twenty minutes, she'd seen Clark's face turn more colors than the sky on Independence Day.

But then, just before she exited the bathroom, her heart jumped at the thought of Lex's men actually finding her. This was the only place she was safe. As much as she hated to admit it, she really did need Superman's help. But, if she was tricky, she could get it without divulging what she knew to Clark.

She didn't want him to be watching over her like a paranoid freak, worried that she'd expose his secret. Which meant Lois also couldn't tell her cousin. It was clear who Chloe's allegiance belonged to.

Lois found Clark and Lana in the kitchen. "Why don't you two go in the living room. I'll be in with some tea in a minute," Lana said.

Clark offered Lois a comfy place on the couch, with messy pillows and a blanket that had obviously been tossed aside in a hurry. "Eww," Lois couldn't help but remark. She went to his recliner instead.

"So?" Clark asked, now wide awake. "What's the broken disk all about?"

Lois swallowed hard. She couldn't imagine telling him the truth—it would be the most humiliating moment of her life if she admitted just how far she nearly went out of spite. And perhaps a bit of jealousy.

Lana had everything Lois wanted now—everything she could've had if she'd gone a different route.

Lois shook off the sting and said, "I was working on a story. I have been for a while now, and the person I was about to expose . . . well . . . " she shrugged, " . . . I changed my mind."

Clark squinted. "While you were swimming in Metropolis Lake?" he asked. "Because unless I'm crazy, that water you sprayed all over me has a nice fishy odor—and so do you."

Lois sniffed her hair. "Okay, got me there," she said, gagging. "I was being chased."

Clark put his hands on his hips, very Supermanly-like.

_Oh my gosh! I am the world's biggest idiot!_ Lois thought.

"Were they after the disk?" Clark asked.

Again, she couldn't help herself. "No, they were trying to tell me that I'd dropped a dollar bill on Park Avenue!" she said. "Geez! Of course they were after the disk!"

Clark let out a heavy breath, his patience clearly exhausted. She better knock it off with the attitude. "What kind of information did the disk contain?"

"Just stuff," Lois said, all casual.

"Stuff?" he asked. "All right, that clears things up."

"Calm down! Don't get your plaid boxers in a twist!" Lois said. "They _are_ plaid, aren't they?"

Lana had come in with the tea and set it on the coffee table. "Gosh, I hope so. Plaid is _so_ hot."

Lois rolled her eyes. "You two are definitely meant to be together."

"Yep," they both answered.

"So, you won't tell me what's on the disk—fine," Clark said. "Can you at least tell me who you were planning to expose? I don't know how I can help you here, Lois, if you can't give me any more hints than 'stuff!'"

Clark shifted his weight from one foot to the other, waiting. He still looked a bit nervous, and so did Lana. Lois felt ashamed that they were right: she _was_ trying to expose Superman.

"Lex Luthor," she answered. "Who else?"

Clark's shoulders loosened up, but after a moment, he looked concerned again. "What do you have on him?"

"A lot."

"A lot of 'stuff'?" Clark asked with sarcasm.

Lois didn't know where to go from there. How could she tell Clark enough to motivate him to protect her, but not enough to rat herself out? She pretended to look at her hands as she twisted them, but was truly searching the contents of an official looking paper—that had fallen under Clark's coffee table—for ideas.

"The story was about cancer," Lois said, keeping her head down as she continued to scan the small print. "Umm, Lex has cancer . . . I think . . . or, umm, someone he loves has cancer." She looked back up, finding both Clark and Lana with startled expressions. Good, she was on to something. "And he's trying to find a cure for it before it's too late . . . and he's, umm, using human subjects to test the formula on. Which is, _of course_, WAY illegal at this point in his research. There. That was my story." 

_Damn, I'm good!_ Lois told herself.

But then she still found herself wondering what that paper on cancer was really about. And what was Clark doing with it? Was he onto a story she didn't know about? She'd have to snatch the paper and find out.

-- -- -- --

Lana couldn't believe that Lois knew about the cancer serum. And even more shocking was that she knew Lex Luthor was behind it. Sure, Lois had her facts completely screwed up, but that wouldn't stop her from pursuing the dangerous story. And worse, she could blow the whole thing and put _everyone_ in danger.

"Clark, can I talk to you for a sec?" Lana asked him. "In the bedroom?"

"Oh, don't mind me . . . the couch is available," Lois said with a grin.

They ignored her.

When Clark shut the bedroom door, Lana asked, "What are we gonna do?"

He shook his head. "No idea. She knows enough about the serum to do something with it, but it will ruin everything if the story leaks before we expose Lex how we're planning to. And Lois will end up dead, I know she will."

Lana took Clark's hands. "She won't—she has Superman," Lana said. "I think we should convince her to come over to our side. I'm sure it will be hard, since she'll want the story for herself, but we'll just have to fight her until she gives in."

"Lois, give in?" Clark said. "Not likely. But that's the only chance we have." He turned and squinted toward the wall. "And since she's in there reading our preliminary report on the serum scandal, I'd say that _now_ is a good time to recruit her to our team."

Lana groaned. "My gosh, that woman has absolutely _no_ boundaries! Please don't tell her where we're going on our honeymoon!"

Clark laughed. "How could I? You haven't even told _me_ that yet."

"Oh yeah," Lana said with a quick kiss. "Well, you haven't told me the exact date, or place that we're getting married, so all's fair in love and . . . well, marriage."

Clark stroked her arms. "We're getting married on your parent's anniversary."

Lana's jaw dropped, along with her heart. "In two weeks?" He gave a proud nod. "I mean, that's _perfect!_ And so meaningful to me . . . but, oh my gosh! I don't even have a dress yet!"

"Then go shopping today," Clark said, as if he didn't see the problem.

"Today?" she asked. "Um, Clark, if you think it's going to take me _one_ day to find my wedding dress, you're sorely mistaken."

"Oh."

"I was actually thinking of going to New York so I could have a better selection," Lana said. "_And_ Chloe's help."

Just as Clark was about to respond, they heard Lana's cell ringing in the living room. It was five in the morning, who could it be?

They left the room to find Lois with Lana's cell in her hand, that she had to have dug out of Lana's purse. "Phone's for you," Lois said, tossing it to her.

Lana gave a _no-kidding_ smile, and answered.

"Miss Lang, this is Mr. Barnacle," said her apartment manager. He'd never called her before, especially not at this time in the morning. "Are you and Miss Lane safe?"

"Yes," Lana answered, her heart pounding. "What's the matter?"

Mr. Barnacle let out a heavy sigh. "Your apartment's been broken into—it's trashed. The police are here now, but they were quite terrified when they found you both missing."

Lana swallowed hard, looking to Clark, who she knew was using his super-hearing now. He had that _look_ on his face.

"Lois is here with me now," she said, then thought she should be careful not to reveal too much. Lois jumped up and put an ear up to Lana's cell. "We're out of town," Lana continued.

"Good, that's good," said Mr. Barnacle, then he whispered to someone else before he returned. "Could you please report to the Ninth Precinct as soon as you return? The officers would like to ask you some questions."

"Yes, of course," she said.

"Until then, your apartment will be closed off as a crime scene," he continued.

They talked a while longer, working out the details, then Lana hung up and told Clark, "I guess that phone call I received earlier wasn't a prank after all."

Lois twisted her hands a bit. "Well . . . umm . . . I think they were after me, not you. Maybe we shouldn't mention that phone call."

Lana squinted at Lois, now certain that she knew more than she was telling them.

Author's note: OHHHH …… a cliffhanger! And it really is one, because I can't update again until January 3. My family has a million things going on, then I'm going to Cancun, where I will think of each and every one of you while I'm basking in the warm sun. Merry Christmas to everyone, and a very happy new year!

When I return, Lois will be cornered by Clark and Lana. Will she admit what she did? Will they team up, or will Lois go after the story on her own? Will Lana find a pretty wedding dress . . . on sale . . . or will she have to pay full price? All questions I KNOW you're dying to get an answer to! Thanks for reading, everyone! aj


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 52**

_ Clark's Apartment _

Clark had been in a lot of sticky situations before, to say the least, but seeing the looks on both Lois and Lana's faces confirmed that he was in for a _very_ long day. And unfortunately, the mess wouldn't be over by the end of it.

With Lois now involved in an already delicate situation, Clark felt like he was the Master of Ceremonies at the Running of the Bulls—only this time, instead of being held in the streets of Spain, it was being held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

And having a charging bull like Lois in a room with anything fragile was _never_ a good thing.

With Lana's eyes in a permanent squint, ready to drill a hole into Lois' head if she didn't admit everything she obviously wasn't telling them, Clark intervened. "Lois, why would you want to hide that threatening phone call from police—especially if it could help put your pursuers, who are surely the same thugs who just trashed your apartment, in jail?"

Lois gave an innocent shrug. "Shouldn't the evidence of the break in be enough? I don't see why the phone call's important."

Clark was trying his best to at least _sound_ patient. "It's important because it scared the hell out of my fiancé, and I want to know exactly who made that call." If Lois was trying to protect the information, it was possible that it wasn't the Luthor creeps at all. But who else could be involved in this?

Lois' voice came out as a squeak before it actually formed a word. "Well, um, how would I know exactly _who_ it was? I mean it was a _guy_ of course . . . it _always_ is, right?"

That's when Lana snapped. "Oh really? Well, that's interesting that you know that, since you weren't in the apartment when the phone call came in, were you?"

Lois' face turned the color of the apple that she'd just snatched from Clark's coffee table. "No! Of course not. I'm just making assumptions, like any good reporter . . . you made it sound like it was a _threatening_ call, and well . . . if it was from a woman, you probably would've said it was more like a _bichy_ call, or something. Because men can't really be bichy, and women can't really be _threatening_, right?"

Lana leaned over, just inches from Lois' nose. "I can do both _quite_ well, and you're about to find that out."

With Lana on the verge of turning femme-Nazi, Clark said, "Okay, maybe we should just—"

That got him nowhere. Lana interrupted with, "Clark, when I brought up the phone call for the first time, Lois was quick to snuff out the possibility that I might mention it to the police." She lowered her voice with him, so Clark knew he wasn't her target. "And she said _that_ phone call, like she already knew about it. Any _normal_ girl—who was concerned about her roommate's safety, or especially her own—would've said something more like, '_What_ phone call, Lana? What did they say?' Blah blah blah. But NOT, 'Maybe we shouldn't mention THAT phone call!' There's something she isn't telling us, and I want to know what it is."

Lana had a valid point. Clark inched her a little bit at a time away from Lois and guided her toward the couch, where he sat next to Lana and held her back with a supportive—firm—grip on her hand.

"You know, Lois, that _is_ interesting," Clark told her as she continued to squirm. "So let's just start with a few simple questions." Lois inhaled the rest of her apple in response. "First off, why did you come to my apartment—with our friendship hanging by a thread—when you could've stopped at either of the two police stations you had to pass between here and Metropolis Park?"

Lois swallowed hard. "Because . . . because," she said again, this time with a firm nod. Then she had to nod again. "Because Lex Luthor has his sticky little hands in everything that goes on around here, doesn't he? There. That's _why_."

Clark squinted. "Hmm, so it's _safer_ to go to someone who's actually been friends with him for the past ten years."

Lois dropped her jaw, then shut again with a loud click of her teeth. "I forgot about that," she said. "I, uhh, guess I better move along then, shouldn't I?" 

She went to stand, but Clark told her, "No use now. I already know everything you were about to expose him for, so . . . " Clark shrugged, " . . . I guess you'll just have to trust me."

"Are you saying you won't _let_ me leave?" Lois asked, trying to sound angry but failing. "Because that's kidnapping!"

Clark couldn't help but give her a disbelieving smirk. "Not that I wouldn't mind gagging you, but no."

Lois folded her arms. "Then what are you insinuating?"

Lana spoke up. "That you came here because you needed Superman's help, and knew Clark could get it for you. So start by admitting _that_ much, and we'll make some progress."

Lois opened her mouth with growing agitation, but nothing came out.

With all the snarky remarks she'd made earlier, about crushing or freezing the disc, or wrapping Lana up in a cape, Clark had his own ideas swirling in his head—very frightening ones. He had to test his theory.

But Lois finally spoke up. "I refuse to be interrogated . . . at least not until I've eaten breakfast. I'm starving!"

"Whah," Lana said dryly, with a roll of her eyes. "I guess if the poison apple you just ate wasn't enough, I'll have to go spike some coffee with Draino. Be right back."

When Lana stood, Clark gave her bottom a gentle slap. "Great idea, sweetie. And if you wouldn't mind, can you warm up some of those waffles from yesterday morning? Those sound really good, too."

"No problem, babe," Lana answered, suddenly cheery.

Lois snapped, pounding her feet on the floor. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you guys?"

Clark's eyes grew wide and concerned. "I have no idea. I think someone's finally driven us to madness, but I can't figure out who."

Lois stuck out her tongue, like any girl—who's life was in grave danger—would.

"So, question number two," Clark said, ready to watch for critical reactions. "Have you heard from Superman lately? Because _we_ haven't."

Lois gave him a dubious smirk. "Riiiiiiiight."

Clark was stone serious after that, with several of those stones in his gut. "No really. I think he took off to duck all the rumors that you've been spreading about him going after an engaged woman."

She huffed. "Oh please. Cut it out, Clark. I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

Clark huffed back. "Well, yeah. That _would_ make you pretty stupid," he said. Lois threw a pillow his way, but he dodged it. He leaned forward with accusation. "Then what's _your_ guess? Where did Superman go?"

Lana placed two plates of waffles on the table in front of them. When Clark turned to say thanks, Lois grabbed her fork and drove it as hard as she could right into Clark's hand.

All eyes darted to the four mutilated prongs of the fork. "He's right in this room, you freak!" Lois said.

That's when Lois got slapped! Hard! Lana shook her hand out and was ready for round two before Lois even knew what hit her.

Clark stood and pulled Lana against his chest, then he backed away from Lois. "How, Lois?" he asked, with short breaths. "And how long?"

Lois rubbed her bright red cheek. "Long enough, and how I found out is none of your business . . . since you've made an ass of me for as many years as you have."

"Oh! I'm the one in the wrong, huh?" Clark asked, incensed. "_You_ just called me a freak! And you wrote a nasty book about me, and wrote backstabbing articles about me—giving every secret I ever trusted you with to the masses—_and_ I'm betting that your little disc doesn't have anything at all to do with Lex Luthor, other than the cash he was gonna give you for it! So fess up, so I can go put on my blue ballet tights, and red hooker boots—as you've so affectionately called them—and save your life for the _umpteenth_ time!"

Lana was stunned watching this play out. When Lois still wouldn't respond, with crocodile tears building, Clark noticed that Lana's expression changed, so he tried to calm down as well.

Lana gently took one of Clark's hands, and said, "Lois, if _we_ try to be more mature about this, will you?"

Lois took a deep breath, then a single tear came cascading down her cheek, then another and another. "Clark, I was so upset at you, and also at Chloe for keeping this from me, that I almost sold you out . . . but I changed my mind—unfortunately in front of Lex's doorman—and Lex had his men hunt me down, and I ran forever trying to get rid of the disk with the video evidence—of you and Lana making out in our apartment tonight, then you doing your super-stuff after I made the freaky phone call—and this is the only place I knew I could be safe." Lois didn't even pause to check their horrified reactions to that. "And my car's still in Metropolis park with all the surveillance equipment, so Lex surely knows exactly what I was bringing to him, and . . . well, he's gonna kill me anyway, so it's just as well that I get all this out in the open so I can die with a clear conscience. There, that's all of it."

Clark waited until her sobs quieted a bit—and long enough for him to no longer want to send her like a javelin to the moon—before he said, "Well . . . I, uhh . . . first want to thank you for making the right choice in the end, and then tell you that, yes, you're safe here, but we've got a lot to work through—both personally, and strategically—so I'm sorry that I didn't trust you with my secret, and hope that we can both get past this."

"I'm sorry that you _couldn't_ trust me," Lois said with a sniff, then she glanced at Lana.

Lana shook her head. "No, I'm not sorry that I slapped you. You still deserved it."

Lois pouted for a sec, then replied, "Okay, you're right." She sniffed again. "But what are we going to do? I can't hide forever from Lex, and he might eventually come after you two—asking for information."

That was a definite possibility, and Clark wasn't about to have Lois bunk up with him and Lana in his apartment. Not under _any_ circumstances. So he had to think of something else. "We need to contact your father, and keep you safe at a military base somewhere," Clark told her.

Lois rolled her eyes. "Can't I go to your Igloo of Sanctuary, or whatever?"

That gave Lana her first grin in a while. "Clark told me that's what you'd called it in one of your articles. Apparently, people were searching for Superman in Alaska for months."

Lois nodded. "Yep. I'm a very popular journalist. They believe everything I say."

Clark pondered that for a few moments. Lois truly was a respectable journalist—one who's help they could use right now. "Lois, I want to strike a deal with you. I'm going to give you the interview of the century with Superman—live and in person, on national television—if you'll do some major busy work for us while you're hiding out for the next week or so."

Lois stood right up. "You'd actually do a live interview . . . with _me_?"

Clark gave a solid nod.

"Can I ask _any_ questions I want?"

"Yep," he said. "And I can decline answering _any_ question you ask, so if you want to look good, then it would be a great idea for us to work together on the details."

Lois put a stubborn hand on her hip.

Lana shrugged. "Or, I could just do it like we planned."

"Fine, I'll play by your rules—including staying on a milatary base," Lois answered. "Now what's the busy work going to involve?"

Clark looked down to Lana for approval, and she gave him a smile. "I need you to secretly contact every big time news anchor and hotshot reporter in the country," Clark said, "and tell them to have their crew ready for deployment to Metropolis one week from today—where you promise to unmask the secrets of our most eligible bachelor."

"Clark, you won't be a bachelor much longer," Lois said. "And I thought the interview would be an exclusive with _me_."

"The interview will be all yours, Lois," Clark answered. "and what we're going to expose that day, with a swarm of media in tow, doesn't have anything to do with me."

"Not that they'll know about, anyway," Lana added.

Clark picked up the paper off the floor that Lois had been reading earlier. He handed it to her and said, "This can't leave my apartment, but read the rest, then you'll know why we need an army of press rats behind us. Lex Luthor won't be able to pay off—or kill off—enough people to sweep this story under the rug. Once the nation knows about it, they'll want this cure for cancer, and they _won't_ have to pay black market prices for it."

"So Lex really _did_ find a cure for cancer?" Lois asked, shocked. "I kinda took a wild guess when I said that."

"No, he didn't," Clark said. "Even stranger . . . Mr. Olsen did."

"Umm . . . what?" Lois asked, tipping her head as if she hadn't heard right.

Lana nodded. "And the serum works, perfectly," she said. "But Lex stole the research, and we're giving it back to the people that Mr. Olsen intended it for—all of us."

"O . . . kay," Lois said. "Sounds great. But if I'm going to be front and center in these two very big events, I'm going to need my makeup bag from my apartment." She tipped her head to Clark. "So do me a favor, will ya? It's on the second shelf in the bathroom."

Clark shook his head, but was gone and back in a flash—then handed over the makeup bag.

Lois gave a happy grin, and said, "Oh! I forgot to have you get my—"

"Don't push it, woman," Clark said, taking Lana by the hand. "We're going back to sleep."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 53**

_ New York City _

"Shopping for a wedding dress should be one of the best days of a woman's life," Chloe said, as Lana studied herself in front of a full length mirror. The bridal boutique was the fifth of the day, and Lana was getting a little frustrated. "Just enjoy yourself. The news report isn't for another two hours."

Lana still couldn't believe that she'd agreed to leave Metropolis at a time like this, just as Clark had asked her to. He didn't want her anywhere near the news report on the cancer serum scandal, just in case something went wrong and Lex Luthor took his revenge. But that's exactly why Lana wanted to be there—in the event that something _did_ go wrong—so she could help out.

"I _am_ enjoying the shopping part, Chloe," Lana said, removing what had to be the twentieth veil of the day. "But Clark's still not answering his phone and it's freaking me out."

Chloe stood from the fluffy pink chair she'd been relaxing in and handed Lana the next dress from a stack of beautiful choices. "Okay, I can understand that," she told Lana, then lowered her voice to a whisper. "But just for kicks, maybe I should remind you that your fiancé is bulletproof, can see through walls, pick up cement trucks with his pinky finger, and toss a nuclear missile into space as if it's a baseball. I highly doubt that you have anything to worry about."

Lana didn't know how to answer without sounding snippy, but she gave it a try. "Clark's physical well-being is only a fraction of what worries me these days, Chloe," she said, also speaking quietly. "It's his heart that most concerns me. He feels the weight of the world on him right now. If this plan to expose Lex for the murderer he is fails, there are a lot of lives at risk. And you know as well as I do that Clark will hold himself entirely accountable for any harm that comes to _anyone_."

Chloe's mouth parted, staying that way for a few stunned moments, then she smiled. "Do you know what makes me happiest when I think of you two together?" she asked. "That Clark has finally found a woman to love him the way he deserves to be loved. Honestly, I _never_ thought that would be possible."

Lana's skin tingled from the warm compliment. "Thanks so much, Chloe," she said. She went into the changing stall to try on the new dress she'd just been handed. "You know, it makes so much sense that Clark is from where he is, because he's much too good for this selfish planet of ours."

A few minutes later, Lana was back in front of the mirror with Chloe zipping up a white satin sheath, with embroidered fabric that made Lana's head spin. "Oh! This is it!" she said with a sigh. "It has sleeves and everything."

"Tell me again why you want sleeves?" asked Chloe.

Lana could give her a perfect explanation at the moment. She pulled up a portion of one of the lace sleeves. "Because Clark said it might be cold where we're getting married, and the last thing I want to be thinking about is goose bumps on my arms. Clark does a good enough job giving me those anyway." She had them right then, just thinking about standing face to face with Clark as she wore that gown. She felt so beautiful.

Chloe gently ran her fingers over Lana's arm—with clear evidence in front of her. "Wow, you _are_ in love." Then she met Lana's eyes. "Yep, go for the sleeves—you're gonna need them."

Lana squinted at her. "You know where the ceremony is being held, don't you?"

Chloe's eyes twinkled. "You'll cry, that's all I'll say."

Lana smiled. "I was already planning on waterproof mascara."

Chloe sighed. "Even _that_ might not work."

A cell rang and both girls jumped. "That's gotta be Clark," Lana said, shuffling as fast as she could with the heavy train of the wedding dress dragging behind her. She answered, "There you are!"

"Hey, babe," Clark said. "Everything's going _great_. Even better than we hoped."

"Did all the reporters arrive on time?" Lana asked.

"Of course," he said. "They're here for the exposé of the decade, as they've all been told."

"Great. And Lois?"

"Yep—she arrived about an hour ago, in disguise, and under the protection of the military," Clark said. "And I'm keeping a sharp eye out as well—on everyone."

Lana relaxed a little bit more. "And Lex?"

Clark laughed. "He's taking Katie Couric on a tour of LuthorCorp as we speak—thrilled to be nominated for 'Businessman of the Year.'"

"Ha! Won't _he_ be surprised!" Lana laughed along. "Are you all set to deliver the _real_ news to Katie Couric?"

"Yep. Ironed my tights and everything," Clark said.

"I still don't understand how your indestructible suit could possibly get wrinkles."

"It's these legs of steel, sweetheart," answered Clark. "All I have to do is flex."

Lana rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless."

"That's for sure. Especially without you."

They kept up the lovey-dovey talk until Chloe pointed at her watch and said, "We've gotta go or we'll miss the news report."

Lana wished Clark the best of luck, and he promised to call her the very first moment that he could. It was killing her not to be there, but she took a deep breath and told Clark that she knew he could do this without her help.

"No, Lana," he said. "I wouldn't have had the courage I needed without _your_ help. You're still here with me . . . but in a place that I won't have to worry about you. I really needed that."

She understood what he was saying. In the chaos of what was about to take place, Lana was glad that Clark wouldn't have to add _her_ to his list of a thousand places to be at the same time. She knew that he would've made her his number one priority, and she shouldn't be right then.

Clark wasn't just _her_ hero, he belonged to the world. And Lana was happy to share him.

A few minutes after their phone call, Lana was paying for the wedding dress, a lovely veil, shoes, and jewelry, when she saw something in the boutique out of the corner of her eye. She burst into laughter. "Chloe!" she said, pointing.

"No way!"

The girls rushed over to the selection of bridal garters. The saleswoman followed and said, "The ribbons on the garters are inspired by Scottish tartans. Isn't that adorable?"

Lana squealed with delight, picking out her favorite one—which was mostly red and blue. "Where we come from, we just call it _plaid_," she said. "And it will drive my fiancé crazy!"

The saleswoman looked Lana over. "I doubt he'll need the assistance of a garter for _that_."

Chloe shook her head, amazed at Lana's lucky find. "You have no idea."

Lana and Chloe made it to Chloe's place just before the special news reports would be airing. The reporters themselves really had no idea what they were in for yet—Lois had sent them on a wild goose chase to get them to the secret Luthor Lab they were all about to storm.

Superman would be delivering Katie Couric, and Lex, the shock of their lives when he bounded into their interview . . . which should be happening any moment now. And it would be _live_, right along with the other broadcasts.

The CBS Evening News music started to play and Lana threw her hands over her face. "Tell me when it's over!"

Chloe pulled her hands away. "Lana, it's going to be all right. You guys have planned this very carefully."

"I know, but from everything that Clark's told me, you can never be careful enough when Lex is involved," she said. "That sick creep!"

Chloe couldn't argue with either of those statements.

Katie Couric's bright face appeared on-screen. "Tonight, I have the pleasure of being with one of the country's most successful businessmen, Lex Luthor," she said. The camera went to a wider view, showing her sitting across from a beaming Lex. "Tell me, Mr. Luthor, how have you been since the passing of your mentor and father, Lionel Luthor?"

Lex gave an exaggerated sigh. "It's been tough. You know, he taught me everything he knew, and I'm just trying my best to preserve his legacy."

Couric smiled. "And a fine job you're doing of it. With over sixty world-renowned companies in your control—and a bottom-line revenue that only such giants as Microsoft ever see—you're well on your way to being a legend yourself. I'm sure your father would be very proud."

"I sure hope so," Lex said, with a hint of a sniff. "He's my hero. I only wish he was still here."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have murdered him," a deep voice said, off-camera.

Both Couric and Lex stiffened, then looked around. Couric whispered to the side of her, "Where did that voice come from?"

"From over here," the voice said. The camera shifted to Lex, who now had a tall, dark, and _very_ handsome superhero standing behind him.

"Miss Couric, sorry to interrupt your interview, but your viewers will want to hear what I have to say," said Superman. "Lex Luthor not only murdered his father, but I have proof of over 152 additional murders he's arranged for. Are you interested?"

When she gathered enough breath, she said. "Yes!"

Lex jumped up. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

"Nobody's laughing, Luthor," Superman said, pushing Lex back into the chair by his scrawny shoulders. "I've got another guest for you to interview, Miss Couric."

Superman turned toward the door and the camera followed. A man shuffled in with the aid of a walker.

Lex gave a hard swallow and yelled, "Get security!"

"I _was_ your security!" the man screamed back. "And now I'm recovering from a coma that _you_ put me into—with a barrage of bullets!"

"Is this true, Mr. Luthor?" asked Couric, looking stunned, but excited by the unexpected twist to her interview.

"This man is crazy! And so is Superman!" Lex shouted, then called for his security again.

No one came. "I guess they've been detained by the FBI like the rest of your crooked staff," said Superman.

That didn't seem to worry him. "You're lying," Lex answered.

"I can see why you might think that," said Supes. "Seeing as how you have a large portion of the FBI agents in your pocket—which I'm sure the American public would also love to have investigated—but I assure you that we've gone to great lengths to find _honorable_ agents this time, unafraid of the consequences you've laid upon their fallen comrades for betraying you."

"What consequences are we talking about here, Mr. Luthor?" asked Couric, wide eyed.

"I can answer that," said the man with the walker. "I was Lex Luthor's personal bodyguard for the past ten years, and I've witnessed first-hand the murders and atrocities he's responsible for—including the fifteen deaths of federal agents that he's sure to hang for."

Lex scoffed at that. "Oh, is this my _fair_ trial then?" He looked right at the crew. "Shut off the cameras! NOW!"

"You know as well as I do that you'd never get a fair trial, Luthor," said the bodyguard, now in a seat facing Lex straight on—with fire in his eyes. "Not fair to the _public_, that is. You've bought your way out of every legal problem you've ever encountered. I've personally delivered the checks to the judges and witnesses, and I have the guts to answer for my sins—do you?" The man leaned forward in his chair.

Couric was obviously trying to stay serious, but she still looked giddy from hitting a journalism jackpot. "This is a live broadcast, Mr. Luthor," she said. "So I highly doubt the American people will let any judge or jury overlook these types of accusations. You'll have your _fair_ day in court now, I'm sure of it!"

Superman stood proudly in the middle of the confrontation. "And that's not all you'll be tried for, Lex," he said, making Lex shift in his chair and look around for the nearest exit. But he wasn't going _anywhere_ and he knew it. "The whole world will be interested to know that you've stolen a proven formula that's a sure cure for all types of cancer, and you've been selling it on the black market to desperate families who are trying to save their loved ones—at any cost. And you've surely made them _pay up_, haven't you?"

"That's ridiculous!" shouted Lex, looking right into the main camera lens.

"Then what's your secret lab on Lumber Row for?" asked his former bodyguard. "Why don't we take a look there now, Miss Couric? I understand that there are over one hundred reporters who have just invaded the premises to catch my old colleagues red-handed."

Lex choked.

"Do we have a live feed?" Couric asked her producer.

The producer, who the camera had now panned to, spoke into his walkie-talkie, then listened. "We do . . . we do! Going there now."

Lana and Chloe were doing cheerleader jumps at this point, their faces streaming with joyful tears.

The scenery on the television screen changed from the cool greys of Lex's office at LuthorCorp, to a chaotic scene at a warehouse in the industrial section of Metropolis.

Lois Lane was the first face the cameras zoomed in on. "Oh my gosh!" Chloe yelled. "She has _black_ hair!"

"She said she's always wanted to try it out," Lana said, also shocked by Lois' change in appearance. They'd instructed her to come in _disguise_, not with an extreme makeover. It definitely worked though—Luthor's thugs hadn't found her. "She looks great."

"She looks _GOTH!_" Chloe corrected.

Lana tipped her head. "Yeah, I guess that black eyeliner _is_ a little thick."

They turned their attention back to the television, where Lois was in the middle of explaining how the journalists were tipped off without any of them knowing exactly what they were in for. They caught Lois mid-sentence. " . . . perhaps they expected to reveal the true identity of Superman, but this is much bigger than that! This involves all of us—all of us whose lives have been, or will be, cursed by the devastation that the medical community fights so hard to protect us from—_cancer._ My own mother died from it, and millions have lost a friend or family member to the demon," Lois said. "But Lex Luthor has had the cure for quite some time now and has been hoarding it for his own profit. Had it been _his_ formula to profit from, we might've had an uphill battle in fighting for it . . . but here with me, I have the man who is actually responsible for the funding of the research—philanthropist, James Olsen."

The camera then showed a wide-grinned Mr. Olsen beside Lois. "This is thrilling! THRILLING!" he said. "This research was meant for all to benefit from, and I owe Superman—and his daring friends—my debt of gratitude for recovering this gift that I now offer to the world."

Several men, including Luthor's head-henchman, Tate, were being shoved into squad cars. Journalists everywhere were speaking to their audiences with power and conviction—saying that what they were witnessing was history in the making. Not only was there a cure for cancer, but there was a twisted, murderous villain behind the groundbreaking story. Now _that's_ a headline for the ages!

"Back to you, Katie," Lois said, as if she was a close pal of the legendary news anchor.

"Thank you _so_ much for that breathtaking report, Lori," Couric said.

"Lois! NOT LORI! Lois Lane!" Lois could be heard shouting before the live feed was cut.

Katie Couric stood and walked over to Lex. She slapped him once, then again, before Lex even saw her coming. "You pig! My husband died of cancer! Do you have any idea of the _pain_ a family goes through watching their loved ones die? How dare you add to their misery!?"

Couric shook her hand out and returned to her chair. She put on a calm smile. "I'm Katie Couric, and this has been a special report from Metropolis—where I've interviewed the world's biggest scumbag, Lex Luthor. May he burn in hell!"

FBI agents and a S.W.A.T team stormed the room, surrounding Lex, who looked as though he needed an emergency trip to the closest toilet.

Superman stepped up to Lex and lifted him off the chair by the front of his snobby designer shirt. "If you don't mind, I'd like to deliver him to the authorities _myself_," he said, scowling at Lex. "I'm sure he'll enjoy the view."

Then, as cameras documented, Superman took Lex to the roof of LuthorCorp and jetted off into the sky. Lex screamed bloody murder as Katie Couric giggled with glee in the background.

Back in New York, Lana and Chloe danced around her apartment. Lana finally collapsed onto the couch and said, "I _love_ my man!"


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 54**

_The Daily Planet Building _

Mr. Olsen wasn't the only one with bulging eyes as Superman waited to enter the interview room. People were coming up and asking to touch his cape and the S on his chest. One woman even tried to take a peek under the cape, but Mr. Olsen intervened. "If you want to see a solid backside, feel free to look at _mine_," he said. "Superman is a hero, not a supermodel."

"Could've fooled me," the woman said, getting back to her job as a boom mic operator. She glanced over her shoulder for another full scan. "Are you _sure_ you're the only surviving man from your planet?"

"Yep," Supes said. "Sorry."

"Get! Get!" Mr. Olsen said, shooing her off again. He looked back to Superman. "I'm so sorry for my star-stuck employees. I hope she didn't bring up painful memories for you."

"Not at all, I'm fine. Thanks," Supes answered, still avoiding eye contact with Mr. Olsen. Superman was jutting out his chin as far as he could, as well as pulling in his lips to make them look thinner. Now wouldn't be a good time for Mr. Olsen to see any further similarities between Supes and Clark. There would never be a good time for that.

"Splendid. Now, as I was saying," said Mr. Olsen. "I'd surely like to feel one of your steel biceps."

Mr. Olsen was the most 'star-struck' of anyone in the news studio. It seemed like the only reason he was telling everyone to get back to work was so he could have the big guy all to himself.

Supes took a deep breath—Mr. Olsen wouldn't take no for an answer—then flexed his arm.

"Great heaven above!" cried Mr. Olsen, petting Supes' arm like it was a dog. It would have to be a pit bull. "Don't you need a special license to carry a weapon that size?!" He laughed hysterically at his own joke.

"Um," was the eloquent response from caped farm boy.

"Just joking! Just joking!" said a giddy Mr. Olsen. "Okay, can I uh, just . . . well . . . "

_WHEN is Lois going to be ready to start this interview?!!!_

Superman waited for Mr. Olsen to continue, but he just kept beating around the bush of what this desperate desire of his seemed to be.

"Yes?" Supes asked reluctantly.

"Yes! Okay, wonderful!" Mr. Olsen said. Clark didn't yet know what he'd said yes to, but Mr. Olsen was backing away from him—so that could be a good thing.

Wait . . . oh . . . no. It was bad, very bad! Mr. Olsen came charging at full speed, winding up his fist and punching Superman's gut.

Supes had retracted so that the blow wouldn't cause as much damage to Mr. Olsen.

"Holy shi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Mr. Olsen shouted. He held one hand tight against his chest, and threw the other over his mouth. "Oh goodness, pardon my language." He panted with pain. "I've been working out quite hard for that."

Supes rubbed his gut and winced. "Ouch. I can tell."

It didn't matter that the wince was delayed by thirty seconds or so, Mr. Olsen still put on a proud grin. "I'll really get you next time," he said. "Might want to hit the gym for some lifting, tough guy."

Superman was tempted to say that he could _lift_ the entire gym, but knew that would only provoke more craziness. 

Jimmy came sliding in from the other room. "We're ready for you, Mr. Superman, sir."

Supes gave a grateful nod, with Mr. Olsen looking disappointed that their fun time was over. "Okay, well go get 'em, S-man." He went to give Supes a good-luck slug but thought better of it just in time.

All Superman could think was: _S-man?_ He prayed that Mr. Olsen would never repeat that.

Superman walked into a small room, filled with hot lights. He swallowed hard, hoping that he was doing the right thing . . . and that Lois would stick with the plan.

Lois wanted to use this interview to be seen as a serious reporter—and to land a news anchor job—so she'd promised that there wouldn't be any freak-show antics.

They'd gone over what Lois would be asking, and how Supes would respond. But right then, with the cameras aimed at him, his mind seemed completely blank. Then Lana stepped into the doorway and offered a smile.

Superman's chest raised a little higher—he felt the strength he needed. A mic was clipped on to his rounded neckline, and Lois nervously sat in the chair across from him.

"You sticking with the black hair, Lois?" he asked her.

"I look smart, don't I?" she said. "I had to choose between dark hair or glasses, and I didn't want to hide my breathtaking eyes. So deal with it."

Oh boy, Lois was at her finest tonight. This could be kinda scary. Ever since she was front and center to expose Lex Luthor the day before, Lois had a bit of a diva attitude going on.

Supes only had a few seconds to try to take care of it. "Lois," he said. "This is your one chance to prove what you're really made of. You can pin me in a corner and make me look like an idiot—leading people to fear that I'm not all I'm cracked up to be—or you can give the world warm fuzzies by telling them that someone is here to watch their back. Whatever feeling you want to leave with your viewers is entirely up to you."

Lois bit her lip. Supes could tell she was looking for _Clark_ in his face. "You may drive me absolutely nuts sometimes, but you're a good man," she said. "Thanks for doing this for me. It means a lot."

Before Supes could snap out of his astonishment and reply, the producer said, "We're ready to roll. This is live, folks, so stay on your toes."

Lois cleared her throat. "Ready."

Supes gave a nod.

The light on the massive camera turned on. "Good evening, I'm Lois Lane. Tonight I'm with a man who's responsible for many incredible things—things that we've only seen in comic books and action movies—but perhaps what Superman will be most appreciated for in the generations to come is his role in bringing a cure for cancer to the world." Lois turned to Supes now. "Superman, with Lex Luthor in front of a judge at this very moment—to hear the charges against him—what thoughts are rolling through that supercharged mind of yours?"

He sat a little straighter when he saw Lana give him the thumbs-up sign. "Thoughts of relief, really. I've been after Luthor for a long time. He's a vicious man with nothing but evil to offer. He and his father used LuthorCorp to both fund and operate their countless crimes."

"With Lex behind bars, do you expect the streets of Metropolis to be safer?" asked Lois, in a formal reporter's tone that sounded so foreign that Supes had to hide a brief smile of amusement.

"Most definitely. Lex is a crime lord and nothing more," he answered. "He isn't the suave billionaire that he's paid the media to portray him as. Just think of the difference he could've made with his money and influence if he would've chosen another path. He could've left footprints of hope wherever he stepped, but instead he's left a trail of destruction and shame."

Lois gave a solemn nod. "What a piece of crap . . . er . . . I mean, what a shame indeed." Lois' cheeks had gone red and splotchy with the slip of her true character, but she was quick to put on a smile and say, "But we do have _you_, Superman, to protect us from creeps like him. So tell me, what does it feel like to be the most powerful man on Earth?"

Supes had a well-planned answer for that, but something else came out. "It's tough, actually. I wish I could be everywhere at once, to prevent _every_ disaster or injustice that I could. I may be fast, but there's still only one of me. That's a big responsibility, and at times I feel weighed down by it."

Lois looked a bit caught off guard by his improv, but she continued with the next question. "We're all curious, Superman, if anything else could 'weigh you down.' _Do_ you have a weakness?"

Supes studied his hands for a few seconds, then looked up, thinking of the weakness that hurts him most. "I do. It's my fear of failure. Ghosts of regret constantly haunt me—for all the times I wasn't there when someone needed me. I hate to see anyone suffer, for any reason."

Lois shook her head. "But you've saved _so_ many lives . . . and you _have_ been there _so_ many times. You have the world's gratitude, Superman, for giving us a reason to believe that there's a hero somewhere deep inside us all—we just need to make the choice to _be_ that hero."

Those had to be the softest, kindest words to ever leave Lois' mouth. "Exactly," said Supes. "You don't need superpowers to be a hero. It would sure take a lot of worry off _my_ shoulders if people would just have the courage to do good with their talents, instead of using them for their own selfish purposes, like the Luthors have."

The interview went on for another thirty minutes—including a short time of talking about how Lex Luthor had tried to blackmail Lois into discovering Superman's true identity. She took the opportunity to tell the world that if a book ever showed up about Superman's secret world—with her name on it—that it couldn't be trusted.

Many people had emailed the news studio when the interview was announced, asking if Superman had a girlfriend now that he wasn't with Lois, but Clark had begged Lois not to give anything away about that topic. He didn't want anyone getting evil ideas about how they could hurt him the most.

At the end of the interview, Clark closed with a theme to sum up what they'd talked about, "You don't need a cape to save the world," he said. "And you certainly wouldn't like wearing my tights!"

"Just for fun," Lois said, as Supes was expecting her to, "can you give us an encore performance of flying over Metropolis like you did yesterday?"

Supes grinned. "I'd be happy to," he said. The cameras followed him to a patio outside the news studio and he took off like a fighter jet.

Mr. Olsen could be heard screeching with delight in the background.

"This is Lois Lane, thank you for joining us," Lois said, looking back into the camera.

The producer called cut, and the next voice to be heard said, "Wow, he's pretty amazing, isn't he, Mr. Olsen?"

Mr. Olsen glanced over his shoulder to find Clark with his arm around Lana. He looked Clark over with an appraising smile and said, "Yes he is. I sure wished you would've conducted the interview yourself, but I'm glad you could at least me here for it."

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," Clark answered.

"You two are still planning on joining me in my office right now, right, Kent?" asked Mr. Olsen as they headed back toward the main elevators.

"Of course," both Clark and Lana answered.

Only Mr. Olsen didn't take them straight back to his office, he took them on a few detours that seemed very unnecessary—just to check on a few things, he'd said.

Finally, they arrived at Mr. Olsen's massive doors. "Happy wedding party, Clark and Lana," said Mr. Olsen with a little squeak.

The doors opened on cue and Clark and Lana were surprised by a roomful of happy friends and coworkers. Chloe had flown in from New York with Lana, and had also watched the interview from the studio, so her bright smile was beaming from across the room.

Martha Kent was even there, as well as Mr. Olsen's wife. Jimmy and Heidi were busy cuddling in a corner.

And Perry White seemed abnormally chipper, shaking their hands like he'd just met his favorite movie star. He pulled them aside and approved the time off they'd requested for their wedding and honeymoon. Then he added, "I have a feeling, that along with Lois, you did a lot of behind-the-scenes footwork for the serum scandal report. I owe you a great debt of gratitude. My grandson has recovered and is thrilled to be back on the playground."

"More than happy to help," Clark said. Supes had dropped the hint to White that Clark and Lana had helped him out. It was a silly ploy to get White to agree to giving them both such short-notice vacation time, but it worked.

As the crowd enjoyed mingling, the interview with Superman was re-playing on Mr. Olsen's big screen. People were chatting loudly, then all of a sudden, the room quieted one small group at a time. Clark and Lana both turned to what seemed to be the chatter-dampening source.

"This is a special report," said a newscaster on the big screen. "Police scanners are buzzing with the news that there's been a full-out attack on the courthouse, and Lex Luthor has escaped with the culprits. They are issuing a security warning, along with an immediate curfew for all of Metropolis. Promises of S.W.A.T. teams and FBI agents are in the works . . . "

In the middle of the chaos that had taken over the room, Lana gripped Clark's frozen hand. "It's okay, Clark," said Lana, with building fear in her eyes. "It's not your fault. You'll get him. You will."

He gave a hard swallow and was about to say something when Chloe ran up to the two of them. "I can't find Lois. The studio said she left to come here just a few minutes after we did, but I haven't seen her anywhere."

Clark scanned the room. No Lois. His stomach turned inside out.

"Have you tried her cell?" he asked Chloe.

"A hundred times. She's not answering."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 55**

_Clark's Apartment _

Lana paced back and forth, reinforcing the path she'd worn into Clark's living room carpet over the past three hours. "Chloe! I can't stand this any longer!" she said.

Chloe slammed her laptop shut and stood from the couch. She'd been hacking every Luthor system she knew about, searching for information. "Me either. There's not a single hint of Lois on any of the Luthor security cameras. Where the hell has Lex taken her?"

Clark wasn't getting anywhere either. He'd bolted out of Mr. Olsen's office as soon as the news came in that Lex had escaped, and worse—Lois was missing. It wasn't a coincidence, and they all knew that.

"What if this is a trap, Chloe?" Lana asked, staring at her cell phone as if she could make it ring with pure mind power. They hadn't heard from Clark for over an hour—he was supposed to have checked in by now. "What if Lex nabbed Lois because she's the only person he knows that has a personal connection to Superman? So he's using Lois to lure Supes into a trap!"

Chloe took Lana's cell phone from her shaking hands. "Lana, I know this is really hard, but we can't help Clark if we don't keep our heads on straight."

Lana exhaled a long breath. "You're right. And I'm sorry that I'm just thinking about Clark's safety right now. Lois is your cousin, so I should be more sensitive."

"It's all right," Chloe said, now looking at the cell phone herself—studying it just as hard as Lana had been.

The cell suddenly rang and Chloe jumped so high that it flew out of her hands. Both girls scurried across the room to grab it before it stopped ringing.

"Are you okay?" Lana asked in relief.

Clark sounded out of breath—how was that possible? "I've searched every corner of Metropolis! I can't find her!"

Chloe just about collapsed as her knees gave out. Lana wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. They both pressed ears up to the cell phone and listened as Clark continued to explain where he'd been.

"A guard at The Daily Planet said he saw Lois leave with an unfamiliar man in a suit," Clark told them. "But he said that Lois didn't look scared at all—on the contrary, she was smiling and chatting with him about how well the interview went. And he was saying something about being a television exec who was interested in hiring her as an anchor."

"Yeah, right!" Lana said. That would've been the perfect hook to get Lois out of the building.

"Well! _What_ was the man's name, Clark?" Chloe spat out. "You looked into that, didn't you?"

Chloe was now the irrational, panicky one.

"No one knows. He didn't look familiar, like I already said. And—"

"A name, Clark! We need a name!" Chloe asked. "Did you check the log at the front desk?"

"Of course I did," he said, sounding impatient now.

"What about the back door log . . . the side door logs . . . the parking garage cameras . . . the . . . " Chloe went on and on, while Clark was trying to catch up with all her questions without snapping.

Finally, he did, "Jeez, Chloe! Do you really think a kidnapper's gonna check in under his _real_ name?"

Just as Chloe was about to hurl her own accusation of stupidity, which Lana knew neither she nor Clark meant at the moment, Lana said, "Okay, Clark, we'll make some calls, and you just do what you're best at. All right, babe?"

Clark gave a sigh of relief. "Thanks, I'd appreciate that . . . I can't spend any more time checking _paperwork_. I need to search the surrounding towns . . . cities, states . . . "

"We've got your back, sweetie," Lana said, trying to sound confident. "We'll let you know when we have something."

They said goodbye, and Chloe grabbed her purse. "We're _not_ just making 'phone calls,'" she said. "You know that, right?"

Lana also went for her handbag. "Of course I do. Why do you think I hung up before Clark made me promise to stay put?"

With that, they were out the door and on their way to The Daily Planet.

** --- --- --- --- --- ---**

Lois shivered as another shadow crept toward her in the cold, damp room. With stone surrounding so much of her, it felt like a dungeon. But she knew it wasn't. It was another one of those secret Luthor Corp labs—an easy guess based on the green glow of the many stainless steel tables.

When the shadow's face came into clear view, Lois wrestled to get free of her ropes one more time, then shouted as well as she could through her gag. "WEX WOOFUR! WUR WOT WUNNA WET WAWAY WI WISS!"

Lex howled with laughter, along with the other three thugs at his side.

"Pretty funny, huh, Mr. Luthor?" said one of the men. "She's been screaming at us for hours, and all her words come out starting with the letter W."

Lex nodded with amusement. "It's always fun to see which consonant the _bound-and-gagged_ get stuck on," he said, inching so close that he was right in Lois' face. "It all depends on where the gag is placed—above or below the dry, cracked tongue."

"WOO WIESS WOF WIT!!" Lois squealed.

More laughter. Lex cocked his head. "Did you just call me a piece of—"

Lois was so angry that when she lurched forward this time, her heavy metal chair actually moved with her.

"We've got a fighter here, boys," Lex said with a sneer. He grabbed Lois by the throat. "The placement of the gag isn't my biggest concern. It's the placement of the rope that really counts. And _your_ rope is about to move from your hands to your neck."

Lois tried her hardest to feign courage, but she knew he wasn't joking around. If she could've swallowed properly, she would have—hard. But Lex was right about her tongue being cracked and dry from a lack of moisture. Both her mouth and throat were on fire. Even if her gag was removed, she wasn't sure if she could scream loud enough to summon help. And maybe there wasn't anyone around to hear her scream anyway. She doubted it.

The only hint of where she was came from a brief flash of scenery when Lois was being dragged out of a helicopter. Her blindfold had come just loose enough for her to see a familiar dock that she used to dive off of during her long-ago visits to Crater Lake.

She was in Smallville. Who the hell would think to look for her _there_?

Her only hope was the one chance she had to hit redial on her cell phone when they'd first arrived at the lab and she wasn't yet tied to the chair. It had fallen out of a thug's pocket and she'd scampered to it before he even noticed. She heard someone answer but hadn't recognized the voice. She hadn't even let them finish their greeting before she yelled out: CRATER LAKE! That's all the time she had before the thug grabbed her phone away, pushed open a door that led to a lookout over the lake, then lobbed it into the water.

Lois hoped she was wrong, but the last call she remembered making from her cell phone before she was kidnapped was to the front desk of The Daily Planet. The words "Crater Lake" wouldn't mean a single thing to a receptionist.

"Good, your wide eyes indicate that you're as terrified as you _should_ be, Miss Lane," Lex hissed. He really was a snake—just not as good looking. "Only I do have to wonder if you've made an accurate guess about just how far I'm willing to go to siphon the truth from you."

A man in a white lab coat pushed in a cart covered with menacing looking tools. He strolled along and whistled, as if he was delivering the daily mail. Obviously, he was well-used to this job of his, and it didn't bother him in the slightest.

Lois couldn't breathe for a good few seconds. Then she had to decide if she wanted to start breathing again at all.

"Ever heard of Sodium Thiopental?" Lex asked with a sparkle in his eye.

She had—it was a drug that was often used as a truth serum. Lucky for Lois, she knew quite a bit about it because she'd done a research paper on the drug in college. Her title: Just Think About the Progress Journalism Could Make if a Reporter Could Use Sodium Thiopental. Lois had been serious.

But now she had to be an actress and desperately hoped it worked. She could use this to her advantage if she was able to keep at least _some_ of her wits about her.

Lois played up her fear and shook her head at Lex.

"No?" he laughed. "Then you're in for a fun little surprise!" Lex turned and waved over the man in the white lab coat. "Hector, let's see if Lois is afraid of needles, shall we?"

She was! She was deathly afraid of needles! She might be able to fight the truth serum, but a needle was an entirely different matter.

Hector lifted the three-inch needle so Lois could get a good long look at it. "Let's try it on for size," he said, lowing the needle near her upper arm and giving her a hard prick.

Lois bit down on her gag so hard that she was sure she heard a tooth crack.

"How lovely, we've found a bleeder," said Hector, with a creepy twitter. "Drip drop drip drop drip drop," he repeated, as trickles of blood rolled down her arm, off her elbow, and splattered onto the floor.

Lois tried hard to focus on her upcoming task, not on the blood or pain. She was Lois Lane . . . she did _not_ get lightheaded at the sight of blood. Okay, maybe she did, just a little.

"I'll need a strong vein for this, Mr. Luthor," Hector said with a pleasant smile. "Could we please move her forearms to the front? Then you may tie her up again if you wish."

Lex motioned for his men, and two of them came running. They untied Lois' hands from behind the chair, moved them to her lap, then promptly tied them up again. Had it just been those two men in the room, Lois would've fought like a caged tiger to get away, but there were three henchmen, Lex, and an eerily-happy vampire surrounding her.

Lois drew a long breath as Hector drew an even _longer_ syringe of liquid from a glass bottle. "Oh, I just love this part," he said, giving the syringe a little flip with his finger. A drop of serum leapt from the tip of the needle like a child anxious to play.

And Lois was ready to play, too. She hoped.

The needle stung as it was buried deep into her vein, then the heat of the liquid shooting up her arm burned even worse. She couldn't help it—she screamed. And then she screamed again as Hector gave the needle a painful jiggle before removing it from her arm.

Lois wanted to kick the skinny little twit square in the face. And then she wanted to pluck out each one of the hairs that were growing like weeds from his ears. He was _lucky_ that he had protection around him.

Her head swam with heavy fog after only a few moments. She felt as though someone had dumped a swamp of murky water into her ears. Her shoulders drooped, relaxed . . . her eyelids felt heavy—her legs went limp.

And then her mind snapped itself to attention: _Fight this! Fight this!_ It was her only chance for survival. She had to give Superman enough time to find her. And he _would_ find her, he HAD to!

One of Lex's men removed her gag, and her dry mouth and aching jaw sighed their approval.

"Here we are at last, Miss Lane," said Lex, pacing in front of her. "Let's start with a straight forward question." He stopped and looked right into her blurry eyes. "Who is Superman?"

From Lois' research about this drug, she recalled that truth serum attacks the person's will to cover up the truth with lies—because lies take a lot more effort to invent than the truth. It basically makes a person lazy, encouraging them to just spit out actual facts rather than work so hard to conjure up fake ones.

The trick? Lois would tell the very bare-bones truth about Superman, and convince herself that peeling away at any more complex layers would take too much effort. That very tactic had been proven before, and Lex would never suspect that Lois knew anything about it.

"Superman," Lois said, in a genuine slur, "wears a tacky cape and _awful_ red underwear."

Lex straightened up, amid stifled snickers behind him. "Okay, amusing, Lois, but not exactly what I'm looking for," he said. "Let's try again: What is Superman's real name?"

That was a very good question. She'd tried to worm it out of him several times—including this past week, but he wouldn't budge. Lois gave a sniff. "He won't tell me. It's too _special_, or something."

"Oh." Lex said with a heavy breath. He turned to Hector. "Are you _sure_ this is working?"

Hector looked into Lois' eyes. "Oh yes . . . her eyes are perfect clouds of submission."

Lex shook off his frustration and pressed on. "All right. Does anyone _else_ know his real name?" he asked.

Lois thought about that for only a moment. "His mom and dad I suppose."

Lex gave a subtle smile. "_Now_ we're getting somewhere," he said, squatting to her level. "Tell me, Lois, where can I find Superman's parents?"

Lois gave a thoughtless shrug. "Well his planet blew up when they were still on it . . . so, you know . . . take a guess. It's really kinda sad."

"Right!" Lex said, clearly irritated now. He grabbed Lois' shoulders and gave her a shake. "Then WHERE can I find Superman?"

She looked up and squinted. "In the sky, maybe. Sometimes he just likes to travel by car though, I think. And his feet are . . . . _whoosh_ . . . . like super-duper fast."

Someone's cell rang. Everyone looked around . . . it was a happy little tune. Hector gave a squinted look to his caller ID. "Oh, sorry, I better take this. My first grandchild is being born today—just waiting for the news."

"ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME!?!?!?!" Shouted Lex. He turned to two of his men. "Can we PLEASE screen our torture professional next time? I need someone who doesn't give a damn about anyone but ME! Understand!? What did he put _ini this syringe?! Kool-aid?"_

With a jolly iwhoop into his cell phone, Hector bounded from the room having clearly become a grandfather.

"Congratulations," Lois muttered, still speaking the truth—and nothing _but_ the truth. "I hope you die a horribly painful death, with maggots nibbling on your hairy earlobes."

"Who's that?" Lex said, suddenly on guard as he looked to the ceiling. It sounded like a helicopter was coming in for a landing on the roof.

Two of Lex's men had followed after Hector—obviously determined to escort him from the property, so the one remaining thug called out over his walkie-talkie. "Spade One to Spade Two, do you copy?"

There was a muddled reply that Lois couldn't make out over the noise of the chopper, then the thug looked at Lex. "We've got company, sir: two girls who were snooping around The Daily Planet and got too close to the fire."

Lex's jaw dropped. "So! Why were they bought _here?_"

The answer came with the thumping of two bodies on concrete, having been shoved through the main door of the lab. "One of our insiders at The Planet heard these two asking a few too many questions. And apparently, someone got a message that was leading them straight here anyway."

Lex snapped his head to Lois. "How did you get a message out? What did you SAY?!"

_What did I say?_ Lois asked herself. Oh, she really didn't _say_ anything at all, did she? She screamed something in complete hysterics, so what she _said_ was open for wide interpretation as far as her very-drugged-up mind was concerned.

Lois gave a shameful sigh and returned the stare Lex was giving her. "I got to my phone before that ugly redheaded slug of yours did, and made a call. I just carried on about _water_, lots and lots of _water_." See, now that wasn't a lie, was it? The simple fact that Crater Lake had lots and lots of water was as true as facts come.

Lex threw up his hands. "Ahh! This is what I get from scraping the bottom of the barrel! My _real_ men are all in jail, and I get stuck with a bunch of flunk-outs from the Loser Academy!"

It was unclear who Lex was talking to. He just seemed to be shouting at the walls.

Then he turned to the man who had thrown Chloe and Lana into a heap on the floor. "Take the chopper and get the hell out of here! And take that freaky Hector with you, and the red-headed 'slug' who can't even keep hold of a girl who weighs a hundred and ten pounds!"

"A hundred and twenty-three," Lois said, for the first time being honest about her weight. Not that it was anything to be at all ashamed about, but any given girl will usually lower her weight by at least ten percent when asked. Except when they're on truth serum. "But it fluctuates," Lois continued, "up a pound, down a pound . . . "

"Shut up!" Lex snapped at Lois.

It was now just Lex and one thug in the room—who snagged Lana and Chloe before they could even get off the floor.

The man tugged the girls over to where Lois was tied up. Lex grabbed two more chairs and slid them in the right direction. He was ticked off, with steam practically billowing from his nostrils.

"Oh my gosh, Chloe?" Lois said to her cousin. "You look _awful_!"

Chloe huffed. "Well, what do you expect!? I just got the crap kicked out of me for trying to rescue _you!_"

Lois shook her head. "No, I didn't mean it _that_ way," she said meekly. "It's just that shirt—ewww! The color makes you look like a bird pooped on your face—all green and pukey."

"What?!" Chloe said with a scowl, as her hands were tied behind her back.

"Lana doesn't look any worse for wear, I'd have to admit," said Lois. "Although those jeans of hers kinda hike up in the back, if you know what I mean."

Lana rolled her eyes. "Nice. We've come to rescue a _drunk_ princess. Some noble knights _we_ are."

Lex laughed at that. "Rescue her? Really? Next you're gonna tell me that Clark Kent will rush in any minute now with a pitchfork!" He looked over the ropes that were now secured around each of the girls. "We don't need to bother with gags, no one can hear them scream from here," Lex said. "Besides, I think they'll end up killing Lois themselves if this truth serum doesn't wear off anytime soon."

The remaining thug gave a sturdy nod, the muscles in his neck bulging.

Lex surveyed the room. "I need something to eat, then I'll be back to have some more fun." He looked Lana over and she gave a shudder.

The henchman waited for Lex to shut the door. "Hi, I'm Max," he said, settling into a corner to eat an apple. He took a bite then laughed. "I'll be your tour guide for the evening."

Lois gave her head a wobbly turn in his direction, telling the girls, "At least it was _him_ that we got stuck with. He's the only cute one."

Max straightened up at that.

Chloe and Lana both groaned. But then they shot their eyes to one another.

"Lois," Chloe said, clearly with ulterior motives. "I don't think you're wild enough for a guy like him, so just shut you're mouth, will you?"

"_Me?_" Lois said, shocked. "Not wild enough for _him?_ Oh honey, you should know better than anyone that I'm as naughty as they come."

Max dropped his apple on the floor. He chased it across the room, coming closer to the girls.

"I mean, you remember Travis, right?" Lois asked Chloe. "I know we didn't talk about him much, because it was such a touchy-touchy subject and all, but he just loved it when I . . . "

Umm, yeah. Max was _all_ over this little narrative that Lois was freely sharing, inching closer and closer until he was right in front of Chloe and Lana.

What he didn't know was that Lana had wiggled one hand out of her ropes, then the other . . . and freed Chloe's hands as well.

The ropes that once bound the girls were thrown around Max with a swift prayer of hope—the first one going to his neck, the next to his mouth for a gag. They weren't really planning to strangle him, they just had to get him to pass out. It worked in the movies, they figured, and it finally worked here, too.

Lois sat straight at last. "Good grief, it's about time! Now get me loose," she said, losing the slur she'd had earlier. "I had to make most of that stuff up . . . well, a good portion of it anyway."

Both girls looked at her in shock. "When did the serum wear off?" asked Chloe.

Lois' cheeks turned very pink. "Right when I was telling Max how I called Travis 'Snuggle Bunny,' but I just kept on going! So you guys owe me, big time!"

"We owe _you?_" Chloe snapped. 

Lana was the only one focused on tying up the rest of Max—the big brute. "A little help here, gals?" she asked.

Chloe finished setting Lois free, then they dragged Max into an adjoining room, with even more lab tables.

Chloe looked over the mass of green. "Guys, we've got to get out of here. Now!"

"Duh," said Lois. "I'm hungry, but I'm not sticking around for dinner if I can help it."

It was way past dinner time, and all their rumbling tummies proved that.

Lana couldn't help but ask, "Is this another cancer serum lab? This looks like the same green stuff that was in the lab at the lumber yard."

"It _is_ the same green stuff," was Chloe's quick answer. She was moving the fastest, toward any exit they could find, but each room led to more dead ends—with windows that only led to a five story drop against rocky cliffs. They'd have to go back the way they came.

"Where the hell is you-know-who?" asked Lois in a tiff of frustration. She'd had a longer day than any of them, and certainly didn't feel like following this crazy maze of locked doors any longer.

"Coming," answered Lana with confidence. "Just as soon as he gets our message that we were headed to Crater Lake to find you."

It sounded like Chloe gave an involuntary sob. Neither of the girls had even noticed in the darkened rooms that she was crying. "He _can't_ come into this building! We need to do whatever we can to keep him out of it!"

"What? Why?" asked a bewildered and now very worried Lana.

They could barely see one another by then, and weren't about to turn on any lights.

"Message?" Lois said, like she didn't hear what Lana had heard. "You left him a _message_? Are we talking about the same guy who checks his messages no sooner than every full moon!?"

Chloe whirled around on her. "He has skin of steel, so he must've missed the faint vibrating of his phone—which we insisted he turn on so our constant ringing wouldn't spoil his plans of rescuing _you_—so _then_ our call telling him exactly where you were, went to his voicemail! THEN, about ten seconds later, we were kidnapped, so there! Do you need me to write that down for you so you can stop asking stupid questions?"

Both Lois and Lana were startled by Chloe's out-of-character reaction. They were _all_ scared out of their minds, but Chloe had clearly lost her mind altogether.

"What's going on, Chloe?" Lana whispered, as they were only a set of closed doors away from their original room. "Besides the obvious . . . I mean, why are you so afraid of Supes coming here?" As always, she never referred to this side of Clark as _Clark_.

Chloe madly brushed tears away. "You'll find out if he shows up."

"Then we need to somehow reach a cell phone and warn him," Lois said, sure that the captors had confiscated Chloe and Lana's phones as well. "I bet Max has a cell—"

The double doors flew open, and the girls found themselves staring at two guns pointed right at them.

"Expecting someone else, girls?" asked Lex, as his sole remaining Hulk shooed the three of them back to their original chairs. "And boy, do I hope he comes to your rescue . . . or your funeral, or whatever you'd like me to call this grand finale." He paused for their reaction as he helped tie them up, but none of the girls offered him the satisfaction of giving into their fear. "Oh, I see . . . we're just going to pretend that I didn't overhear your conversation about warning Superman to stay away from this place. Am I lucky or what!? I've stumbled upon a super-weapon, and didn't even know it." He looked around the room. "But I think I might have an idea of what it is." He laughed. "It's been under my nose all this time!"

Right then, there was a sound like a torpedo had hit the building. Both Max and his bald-headed boss spun around, guns drawn. They fired and fired at the blur of red and blue that had just burst through the cinderblock walls, but the bullets bounced off Superman like they were tiny rubber balls.

All three girls were screaming, none of them knowing if it was from the thrill of being rescued, or the fear of knowing _something_ in this very building could lead to Superman's demise.

"Give up, Luthor!" Superman shouted, tossing a cinderblock squarely into the other man's chest.

Lex watched in awe as his thug went flying across the room and slammed into a wall, knocked out cold.

Lex's gun had to be out of bullets, and it seemed as though he was about to give up until he looked at the girls with a little smile.

They were shouting and shouting words of warning, but Superman didn't seem to be paying any attention to them. The room was dark, and unless Supes turned on his super-sight, it was possible that he hadn't noticed what was on the lab tables. And a significant stash of the green stuff was directly behind the girls.

Superman super-sped toward them, grabbing at Lana's cords first and ripping them off . . . but then he bent over . . . then fell to his knees.

Lana grabbed him. "It's okay. Get up! Get up!" She tried to understand what he was saying through his weakening words. "Chloe! What's happening?!"

Lex picked Lana up and literally chucked her across the room. "What's happening?!" he mocked with an evil laugh. "He's obviously repulsed by the color green, my dear!" With giant sweeps of his arms across the lab table behind the girls, Lex scattered Kryptonite—both refined and in raw form—from one side of the room to the other. "He's a faithful red and blue man!"

"And yellow!" corrected Lois, as she and Chloe were wriggling as hard as they could to get free.

Lana stirred just a little, then she dropped back down to the floor.

Superman took in a desperate gasp, then flung himself on Lex with every once of power left in him.

Lex was caught off-guard, still in self-righteous laughter, and landed on his back with a giant thud.

As Supes pushed and pushed himself as far from the scattered danger as possible, Lex pushed and pushed him closer to it.

They were in a dead wrestle of will—a man and a monster—with both just as determined to end the other's life or die trying.

Chloe and Lois called out for Lana until their already worn voices went raspy and hoarse. They couldn't get loose! They watched this struggle for several minutes, with Lex's adrenaline-rushed strength at its best, just barely keeping up with Superman at his very worst—clinging to life by a thread . . . drops of green refined meteor rock in his hair, on his skin, rubbed into his suit and eating away at it like acid.

They were nearing the enormous hole that Superman had put into the side of the building. Soon, they were within inches of both toppling out—to five stories high of cold air to fall through, and then to a bitter death at the hand of the sharp, jagged cliff below.

"Lana!" both girls shouted. She was their only hope. She stirred again, and then a little more. Finally she was to her knees, crawling toward the battle.

She _had_ to get Superman away from the meteor rocks—get it off of him.

Superman finally had Lex pinned, right at the edge of the hole. One more inch and both would tumble over. "Look into my eyes, you coward," Supes shouted. "Look into the face of your greatest enemy . . . " he quieted, and all could hear the labored emotion in his voice, " . . . and tell me that you don't see someone familiar . . . someone who you once saw as your brother . . . someone who looked up to you and saved your life several times over . . . only to see you waste it, and take so many others down with you! Can't you see me? Can't you see _me_?"

Lex stopped struggling, so stunned that he lost his last wisp of balance and rolled off the edge. Superman grasped onto his forearms at the last possible moment—gasping and moaning for the strength to lift Lex back to safety . . . to even keep a grip on him. Superman was on his stomach, with bits of sharp meteor fragments pressing into his skin, weakening him more and more with every labored breath.

Lana finally reached him, tugging with all her strength, too.

When Lex seemed to stop his side of the effort, Superman looked him in the eyes again, once more asking, "Can't you see me?"

Lex looked confused, loosening his grip. "Let me go."

Superman gave a barely-visible shake of his head. He was slipping, too, his body being pulled off the edge by the dead weight Lex was putting on it. 

Lana was hanging onto him as tightly as she could. "Go, Lana," he told her. "I'll be okay."

"No, I'm not letting go of you! You're more than just Superman to me," she said with a sob. "You can't save _everyone!_"

Lex lifted his head with one last swift motion and whispered, "Especially not from themselves . . . Clark." And then he jerked away from Superman's grasp . . . falling . . . falling . . . falling.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 56 – The Finale**

_ Smallville –The Kent Farm _

At the insistence of Lana and Martha, Clark was still in bed the morning that his own wedding was supposed to take place. He'd told them a dozen times a day that he was _just fine_, but the two women still hovered over him.

While Lana was on the phone with Chloe, who had left the day after the fallout at Crater Lake, Clark called out to his mother.

Martha entered his room with a you're-not-talking-me-into-this stubborn expression. "What can I get you, sweetie?" she asked.

"A happy bride," Clark said, sitting up and throwing off his covers. He was fully dressed, shoes and all. "Now get to the airport, Mom. If you don't leave in the next hour, I'll have to fly _both_ of you halfway across the country. You wouldn't want me to do _that_, now would you?"

"Clark," she said with a heavy fist on her hip. "We've already discussed this. We'll have the wedding next week."

"No, we're getting married _today_—on the anniversary of Lana's parents. And I'm _going_ to be at my own wedding, and Lana _will_ be at my side," he said, standing from the bed with a hearty bounce. "So if you refuse, then I won't think twice about throwing you over my shoulder and bringing you against your will."

Martha gave him one of her looks that said: _You're every bit as stubborn as your father_.

"I haven't even packed," she told him.

Clark was gone and back in a heartbeat, with a full suitcase in his hand. "There," he said, placing it at her feet. "You might want to make sure I got everything, and I've already put Lana's suitcases and my own bag in your truck, so you've just officially run out of excuses."

His super-speed was definitely lacking some _umph_, but he wasn't about to tell her that. It was the first time he'd used his powers in days, so the lag was understandable. He'd take a test flight before he trusted himself to be Lana's method of air transportation.

"All right," Martha conceded at last. "But why don't we call the airline and see if they have two extra seats so you can conserve your energy for healing."

"Mom, it's my wedding day," Clark said with a smile, and a building joy in him that was indescribable. "I have _plenty_ of energy to spare! I could throw the Earth off its axis if I wanted to right now." He made a motion like he was going to jet off and give it a try.

"No!" Martha shouted, before she realized he was teasing. "Gosh, Clark, I swear sometimes . . . " she ended with an exasperated shake of her head. "Does Chloe know about this? Is she getting everything ready?"

Clark gave a happy nod. "I called her at six this morning—she _loved_ that—and Lana's on the phone with her right now."

"And we never cancelled the other arrangements—thanks to your tenacity," Martha said with a roll of her eyes, "so I'll fly in as scheduled, complete my errands, and meet you at the . . . " She glanced over her shoulder, to where Lana was making her way up the stairs. "The secret location," she continued with a wink.

Clark could hardly wait to see the look on Lana's face when they arrived. He rubbed his hands in giddy anticipation, making Lana laugh at him.

"Slow down there, buddy," she said. "The honeymoon doesn't start for twelve more hours."

Martha's cheeks turned a bit pink. "That's my cue to exit," she said, spinning to leave the room with her pre-packed suitcase. "I'll see you soon."

Clark offered to carry out her suitcase when she was ready, then Lana wished her a safe flight. Martha gave them each smiles, then closed the bedroom door behind her.

Lana looked Clark over in his jeans and plaid button down. "Wow, you're handsome," she said. "Not that I've minded the shirtless theme you've had going on for the past few days, but . . . " Lana drew a long breath as she approached Clark and trailed her hands along his perfectly-toned arms. "We're really getting married today, aren't we?"

"Yep!" Clark answered with his unmistakable Kent grin.

He'd woken Lana up at six in the morning as well, eager to tell her that he was feeling _a lot_ better, and definitely capable of flying to Jupiter if he had to. He was relieved when Lana shrieked—even at six A.M.—and threw her arms around him.

But now, she pursed her lips a bit. "Are you _sure_ you're feeling up to this—and I'm not just talking physically, Clark."

He gave her a sturdy nod. "Yes, I'm absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent sure that Lex Luthor won't enter my mind for a single moment of our wedding or honeymoon," Clark said, giving Lana a little shock for so straight-forwardly guessing her thoughts. "You've taught me a lot of things, Lana, but when you sat beside me on that ledge and reminded me of who I _really_ am—a hero who knows when to let go of a battle that I _can't_ win—it changed me forever. Lex would've continued on a path that would've destroyed thousands of more lives, so how could I regret that he's gone?"

Clark also didn't regret that he'd missed Lex's funeral—which they heard was very quiet, and attended by very few. In the end, Lex wasn't nearly as popular as he thought he was, especially since he was no longer around to _buy_ his friendships. As for Luthor Corp and Lex's millions, it was all being held against the pending lawsuits by countless cancer victims and their families who could've benefited from the stolen and hoarded research. This was just the beginning of the individuals who could claim damage against Luthor Corp, and its former chief. The money would run out before the lawsuits did.

Lana tipped her head with a gentle smile. "I'm glad that you've made peace with yourself, Clark, but you _didn't_ 'let go.' Lex made that choice on his own, and I'm glad he did."

Clark took hold of Lana's arms and looked deep into her eyes. "Actually, I _did_ let go . . . not with my hands, but with my heart." He released a heavy breath. "The part of Lex who used to be my closest friend was lost long ago, and I've spent too much of my effort trying to find him again. You were right, Lana: I _can't_ save everyone, not if they don't want to be saved."

"And even if they do—" Lana started.

"I know, I also can't carry the weight of the world on my shoulders alone," Clark said. "That's why I've reconsidered this Justice League thing Oliver's been trying to talk me into. I'm finally ready to take on some partners."

Lana gave him a soft kiss. "Then it's perfect timing to take _off_ some time," she said.

"Exactly," Clark agreed. "While I'm gone, they'll be keeping a good eye on Metropolis and other places I usually patrol. So I'm all yours, babe."

She gave his butt a firm slap. "You better believe it!"

Lana's heart thumped like a frantic bass drum as Clark flew toward their destination. She was once again wrapped up in his cape to protect her from the cold, blasting air. They were going much too fast to be on a joyride.

She'd tried to guess this "secret location" several times, but Clark wouldn't offer hints one way or another. She was glad though. The suspense added to her thrill right then.

By the end of the night, she would be Mrs. Clark Kent.

Night had always been a sacred time for Lana—a time of peace and reflection. She'd never been one to be afraid of the dark, but rather, embraced its stillness. Which was why she had been so happy when Clark told her that their wedding would take place at night.

Yes, it was so they could fly there and not be seen, but Clark had also said he'd considered her affection for the evening.

Clark was always so thoughtful, and Lana could already tell that he had put in an amazing amount of effort into the details. He'd been so cute and secretive about it that it made the occasion even more special for her.

Her wedding day . . . wow. It was a day that had always seemed _so_ far away, almost like it was in the same category as a fairytale—too unbelievably wonderful to ever happen to _her_. And boy, was she ever marrying a prince. If Cinderella could only be half this lucky.

Even without Lana's parents to witness the most significant moment of her life, this would still be an enchanted night that would be forever etched into her memory.

Martha would be there—a wonderful mother-in-law if there ever was one—and Chloe . . . a best friend to both she and Clark. It had been quite a joke about what Chloe should wear to the wedding—she was both the best man, and the bridesmaid. She'd finally settled on donning a cherry chiffon gown, with a white rose boutonniere to accommodate her role as Clark's best "man." Lana couldn't wait to see her—she was sure to look stunning.

Lana hadn't invited her Aunt Nell. They'd had an unfortunate falling out over Lana's parents' will, and were still on shaky terms. Lana didn't regret her decision, though, she wanted this night to be all about those she loved most, and who loved her just as equally. And though she didn't have the slightest clue of where Clark was touching down at that very moment, her heart raced with anticipation and contentment.

She was happy . . . so _very_ happy.

As soon as Lana felt her feet hit the ground—soft grass—she asked, "Can I look yet?" She was anxious to peel off the cape that was loosely draped over her head.

Clark laughed. "Hmm, well give me a second, I've got to turn on the lights."

But then it didn't seem like Clark was going anywhere, he just pivoted from one side to another. "There," he said at last. He took a deep breath. "You ready?"

Lana gave an excited nod, then Clark unwrapped her. She kept her eyes closed until she knew she'd have a perfect view of her surroundings.

It didn't take more than a blink to recognize one of her favorite places. But then she couldn't speak through the sobs of joy that overcame her, or the burning in her throat.

Clark stood behind Lana and wrapped his arms around her waist as she took in the luminous site—lanterns hanging on five-foot poles lit a winding path that led to the white chapel Lana had once pointed out to Clark the first time they came to visit Long Island together—where she'd grown up. The chapel itself glowed with magic, with a row of candles in each century-old window.

This was where Lana's parents had been married—this was where, as a child, she'd dreamed of marrying as well. As she grew into adulthood, she never imagined that her future fiancé would agree to come to a small town chapel for their nuptials, but then again, she never imagined that she could ever find someone as wonderful as Clark Kent.

"Clark," Lana whispered at last, through her streaming tears. "Clark . . . Clark . . . I love you."

He gave her a squeeze, and a soft kiss on her check. "I love you, too, sweetheart."

"This is literally breathtaking," she said, trying to truly gather enough air to speak.

Besides the lanterns and candles, the stars in the cobalt blue sky provided the only light. She felt as though heavenly angels graced their presence.

And perhaps they did.

"Can we invite my parents to the big event?" Lana asked.

"Of course," answered Clark, taking her hand and walking toward the path that led to the church, then around the back to the memorial lawn, where Lana's parents were at rest.

She'd had a feeling that they'd smile down on her tonight, but never could've guessed that she'd have an opportunity to smile back.

Until Lana had gone to Smallville with Clark, she'd never found another place that provided her more peace than this very grove of trees. Here, she felt the comforting companionship of her father and mother. Lana's wedding day was one that she'd always worried would be bittersweet, because she was sure to notice their absence more than any other time in her life. But Clark had solved the _bitter_ part of those mixed feelings, and left nothing but _sweet._

As they approached the headstone that read _LANG_, Lana crouched down to touch the soft petals of a fresh bouquet of roses. "Mom, Dad," she said, "I couldn't have dreamed of a more perfect night—I have the perfect dress, the perfect chapel, and the people I love most right beside me." She took Clark's hand and he crouched beside her. "And as if heaven hasn't smiled upon me enough, I'm about to marry the most handsome, _amazing_, man who's ever stepped foot on this Earth." Lana gave a little laugh. "As well as the moon and three other planets, but who's counting?"

Then Lana just lost it, crying like she never had before—tears of joy, of peace, of pure gratitude at how blessed she was to have such a wonderful life . . . and a future that held treasures she could not yet comprehend.

She looked up to the man who she felt was responsible for all of this. "Would you do the honors, please?"

Seeing that Lana couldn't speak another word, Clark helped her up to stand beside him, then grasped her hand. "Mr. and Mrs. Lang, would you please join us for the happiest day of your daughter's life—so far, that is?" Clark asked, then looked to Lana for approval. She gave a satisfied nod. "I promise you that this is just the beginning of a lifetime of happy days that I'll provide for your daughter. I may be a humble farm boy, but I . . . well . . . have a few _tricks_ up my sleeve, which I know will keep Lana both entertained, and safe from harm. She's the love of my life, and she's . . . " Clark couldn't help himself, he gathered Lana against him and kissed her, " . . . extremely _hot_!" They both laughed, then Clark went on. "So thanks for raising a daughter who could—even at a whole hundred pounds—bring a man of steel to his knees in hopes of being worthy of her."

It took a while for Lana to gain her composure, holding onto Clark as tightly as she ever had. Then she looked up to him and said, "I'm ready to look like a princess."

Clark offered Lana a single rose from the bouquet resting at their feet. "You already do."

They walked back toward the path, with lantern light shimmering all around them—making their eyes sparkle like diamonds.

When they reached the front of the church, Martha and Chloe were there, dressed in their stunning gowns of red. The interior of the chapel took Lana's breath away once more—tiny votive candles floated in glass vases, hanging from poles just as the lanterns did outside. Perched on the top of each ornate bench post sat delicate nests of baby's breath, bursting with red and white roses. The rich green of the stems and leaves made the chapel spring to life, and look like a garden in summertime.

Martha told the couple where they could each find their dressing room, then Chloe and Lana flew off like twittering little birds.

It didn't take long, in her excitement, for Lana to be twirling in her wedding dress in front of a full-length mirror. Then she sat on a poofy velvet stool and Chloe arranged her hair—long and loose, with tendrils of soft curls framing her face.

The veil was positioned, the white shoes were slipped on, and the last bits of color were added to an already perfect face. And then there were the hugs—lots and lots of hugs. No tears were allowed, the two girls had promised. They didn't have time for makeup retouches.

Then the moment of all moments arrived.

Chloe had run off a few minutes earlier, leaving Lana in the small foyer that led to the chapel. She took a deep breath as the wedding march began to play, smiling at the thought of how they'd managed—or how _Clark_ had managed—to arrange such a spectacular wedding ceremony with only Chloe and Martha to help.

She was certain it was Martha at the organ, but who would be performing the actual ceremony? _Oh goodness_, Lana thought with a smile. This could be the one detail Clark forgot.

But she was wrong.

When Chloe opened the double wooden doors leading into the chapel, Lana first noticed her handsome groom, in his perfectly-tailored suit—and with a hand that flew to his heart at the site of her—then her eyes shifted to a _much_ older man standing on a step above Clark.

She squinted and shook her head in amazement. "Oh my, Clark _did_ think of everything," she whispered to Chloe as she passed through the doors. The minister was the one she'd had as a child, the very one who had married her parents. He'd retired from his weekly services when Lana was quite young, but remained a tender memory in her heart.

As Lana walked the aisle, taking it slow since it wasn't all that long, she sensed the spirit of her beaming father beside her . . . she felt the eyes of her loving mother watching over her, and could almost count the tear drops rolling down her mother's soft as silk cheeks.

She was certain that Clark also felt his strong father at his side, proud of the man he had become.

Rose petals adorned Lana's path, just as they had once lined the stairs that led to the roof of Clark's apartment, the night he showed her who he _truly_ was. Still, he was no more her superhero than he was before that stunning revelation. From the moment they met, he'd been the only man to ever enter her thoughts.

And here she was, reaching out for his hand to become his wife.

The goosebumps that Lana had hoped to hide with long sleeves warmed her skin. Clark probably would've noticed them himself, but was too focused on Lana's face.

"Gulp," he whispered, after all his other words failed to leave his mouth. His tears were flowing just as quickly as Lana's were. And neither were a bit embarrassed about that, not bothering with a single swipe of their hand.

The emotions weren't quieted in the slightest when the minister greeted Lana. "My heavens, Miss Lang, you look just as lovely as your mother did on her wedding day—precisely twenty-seven years ago."

The man's voice was exactly as she remembered it: soft and humble. And though his eyes were quite a bit more narrow from age, they still had that twinkle of wit she cherished.

"Thank you so very much for being here," Lana told him, grasping his weathered hands. "It means the world to me."

The minister gave her a gentle smile. "Perhaps you should return your hands to your fiancé before you wind up married to an old bag."

Lana laughed. "You haven't changed one bit," she said, following his command.

Clark took a deep breath and smiled. "Trust me, I'm the _only_ one walking out of here with Lana."

"Splendid," said the minister. "Then let's begin."

Martha had now taken her seat on the front row with Chloe. The minister gave them each a nod. "Good evening, beloved _friend_ and _family member_. We are gathered here to witness and celebrate the joining of Clark Joseph Kent and Lana Elizabeth Lang—two hearts that will now beat as one.

"Marriage is an unmatched adventure. It is the most intimate of relationships, and a joyous union of two people whose friendship has flowered into romance. Marriage takes trust, to know in your hearts that you want only the best for each other. It takes dedication, to always be there for one another, to learn and grow, even when times are difficult. And it takes faith, to go forward together without knowing what the future holds. Marriage is not a destination, but a journey—one that you should delight in taking together."

The minister looked to Lana. "I've never seen such a breathtaking bride," he said. Then he glanced to Clark. "Nor such an antsy groom . . . don't worry, the wedding is but a few minutes, the honeymoon—a lifetime."

He smiled at Clark's red cheeks, then went on. "So, with that, let's make things official!"

Clark and Lana both gave excited nods.

"Please face one another and join hands," the minister instructed.

The couple obeyed, gripping on to one another.

"Mr. Kent, if you will . . . "

Clark knew that as his cue to recite the vows he'd written himself. "Lana," he said, getting lost in her eyes, as if they were the only ones there. "I promise that these hands of mine will protect you, that my body will be your shield from danger, and that my heart will entirely belong to you. I will dedicate my entire soul to your happiness, and now offer my life as your own. I love you, babe, and will wake every morning with more gratitude than the day before—that you are by my side."

With the sniffles of Martha and Chloe in a chorus with her own, it took a while before Lana could begin her vows. "Clark, my eternal sweetheart," she finally began. "My arms will offer comfort and warmth when you need me more than you claim to, my shoulders will help bear the burdens that you no longer carry on your own, and my mind will allow me to _trust_ what my heart tells me to fear. You are my friend, you are the only man I will ever love, and you are a hero to the world—but most of all, you are my dream come true. I love you with a passion that has possessed the whole of me, and I now offer you my unwavering companionship." She leaned a little closer and whispered, "And did I mention that I offer the _rest_ of my body as well?"

Clark tried to hide his grin. "You'll have to _explain_ that a little better later on."

"Goodness," the minister said with a cough. "I better get this over in a hurry!"

They exchanged rings with very little ado, then the minister closed with words that stunned all in the chapel. "When we love as we should, we see things in one another that no one else can see. We look beneath the surface, to the unique qualities which make our chosen one special, and realize that they are meant for only us. Never underestimate the power of true companionship. The strength of one may _impress_ the world, but the courage of two can _change_ it."

The minister then returned to his cheery voice and said, "It gives me great pleasure to announce that you are legally bound . . . I now pronounce you Husband and Wife. You may kiss . . . "

Since Mr. and Mrs. Kent were already doing so, the minister just waved them along . . . and along . . . and along.

He finally stepped off his stair and walked past them to a cheering Chloe and Martha. "Perhaps we should just sneak out the back door, they may be a while."

And he was right. The minister was long gone before Clark and Lana noticed that Martha and Chloe had already brought out the cake. Lana tossed her bouquet, which both bachelorettes scrambled to catch, then the newlyweds were picked up in a limo—trailing soda cans included—and taken to a quaint bed and breakfast that overlooked the Atlantic Ocean.

There, they shared a beautiful night together—starting with Clark finding a plaid garter that drove him just as crazy as planned.

And what happened after that, is simply _none_ of our business. 

----- ----- -----

Clark and Lana missed their flight the next afternoon. They missed it the following morning as well. Finally on day three, Clark x-rayed Lana's makeup bag that she'd been hiding from him and found the printed itinerary.

"What's in Orlando?" he asked, all innocent.

Lana beat him pretty good with pillows for ruining her surprise. "What do you mean, _What's in Orlando?_ THE HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH!"

Clark couldn't help but yelp like a kid who's never been to Disney World—which he hadn't. He'd made a big enough fuss about it a couple of months ago that Lana knew this was the perfect place for their honeymoon.

And that's what finally got the couple to leave their honeymoon suite—their _first_ one anyway.

Except for his slip-up with x-ray vision, Clark hadn't used his powers since he lit the lanterns for their wedding. He planned to be an absolutely regular guy over the next week—with all thoughts of superhero business put to the side. Unless it was an _emergency_.

Lana had agreed, and that's why they were flying to Florida the old-fashioned way—by jet.

Clark had instructed Lana to make flight arrangements out of JFK, which he said he'd get them to no matter how far away the wedding location was from there. He was thrilled with how well the wedding had gone—even better than he hoped, and ten times as well as any other event he'd ever tried to put together. He was still shocked that Lana trusted him to plan it in the first place.

Their first hour at Disney World was spent going over the map—Clark couldn't decide which ride he wanted to try first. He'd heard so much about this place all of his life, but was now glad that he'd put off the trip. It made it all the more magical to be sharing it with Lana.

Finally, Clark decided on Space Mountain. He laughed a little, feeling somewhat smug that the ride couldn't possibly compare to a real journey through space.

So after an hour wait, he buckled in as instructed, put his arms and hands inside the cart as told, and enjoyed the clang-clang noise of the rollercoaster taking he and his new bride up a steep climb . . . into _pure_ darkness. By habit he almost turned on his x-ray vision, but stopped himself.

And then he screamed _bloody murder!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

"You pansy!" Lana shouted as Clark carried on like a little girl. She laughed harder and harder and the rollercoaster went in and out of loops, and round and round sharp, unexpected turns.

Clark held onto Lana as tight as he could—as if _she_ was the frightened one.

When they got off, Clark's face was red, and he was actually sweating!

Lana laughed, then suddenly looked concerned, as if there was hidden Kryptonite somewhere in the building. "Are you okay?"

Clark swallowed hard. "I, uhhhhhh, think so." He finally laughed at himself. "Oh my gosh, that thing was _fast_ . . . and I couldn't see _anything!_"

"Duh!" Lana said. "That's kinda the point!"

"Well . . . well . . . I'm just used to having control over my speed, and what direction I fly, and . . . " Clark had a whole list of excuses that made Lana grin from ear to ear.

And after all that, all Clark wanted to do was get back on that very same rollercoaster. It took him two more times before he was able to relax enough to keep his eyes in their sockets.

They both had the time of their lives that day—the first of many they would spend at Disney World. But by seven or so, they were being a little too frisky for the comfort of the other patrons standing in line with them.

So weaving in and out of the crowds, they made their way to the exit as quickly as they could.

Whey they finally got to the shuttle stop for their hotel, they had to wait. 

They waited . . . and waited . . . and waited some more . . . WHERE WAS THAT SHUTTLE?!?!?!

Their hands and lips were just not in the mood to behave—they'd behaved long enough!

"Clark," Lana said, sounding just as eager as he was. "Get us out of here."

He groaned, wanting to take her suggestion _so_ bad. "But I promised that I wouldn't use my powers unless it was an emergency," he told her.

Lana gripped the front of his shirt with both hands. "This _is_ an emergency!"

That was it . . . who was Clark to argue with his new bride? Before Lana's heart could thump another desperate beat, Clark scooped her up and super-sped back to their hotel room.

Now without being too intrusive, let's just say that Room 508 of Disney's Grand Floridian Hotel was _definitely_ the Happiest Place on Earth—even with fogged windows.

_The End_

**Thanks to everyone who has read this fic!! Your comments have always meant a lot to me. I doubt I'll be writing fanfiction again for a very long time, but if you're ever interested in beta reading one of my novels for me, contact me through the fanfiction message system.**

Thanks again!!! May CLANA live FOREVER!!!!


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